Angels Of The Rebellion
by DestructiveObsession
Summary: Sam is all alone after Dean disappeared after killing Dick when suddenly a strange man appears from a blue box. Not far away Sherlock and John investigate the stoned behaviour of the majority of American citizens.
1. The beginning

Superwholock

The crack extended across her whole wall. A jagged, ugly line that smelled dangerous and impossible even as the strange man traced his finger across it. I suppose that's why he was so attracted to it. He eyed the little Scottish girl who was sitting perched on her bed, the little girl who had let in the weird man from the blue box which had fallen from the sky into her garden and fed him fish custard but was scared of this crack.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked her, a small frown creasing his face.

"No, what?" She said, her voice solid and brave and already The Doctor was enamoured with this little girl.

He grinned, "This is a crack." The girl's eyebrows rose and she opened her mouth to say something but The Doctor carried on, beginning to catch onto an idea.

"And you know what? If you knocked down this wall, this crack would stay here because this crack isn't in the wall. It's in everything and it's everywhere, joining parts of space and time that should never touch." The Doctor bent slightly, trying to see more closely inside the crack but there was only darkness there, an eerie silent blackness that he couldn't decipher anything about.

"What does that mean? Can you fix it?" Amelia had got off her bed, was tugging The Doctor away as she whispered her questions as if she were worried something was listening. The Doctor peered round, maybe this new him was paranoid but he did suddenly feel _watched._

"You know when grown-ups tell you everything's fine and you think they're probably lying to make you feel better." For an instant, everything about The Doctor was serious, his entire focus seemingly on Amelia who nodded, dazed at the sudden change in mood.

"Everything's going to be fine." The Doctor beamed deliriously and quickly hurried down the stairs and out the house, Amelia in tow. They ran to his fallen blue box where The Doctor dropped to Amelia's height, his hands gripping her shoulders comfortingly.

"Give me five minutes. I'll be right back." He smiled, ruffling her ginger locks. But she looked worried.

"You won't be back." She looked at his blue box then back at him. She looked sad as she observed him, and he no longer felt like he was talking to a small 10 year old.

"I will. Never underestimate what a man with a big chin can do." Amelia fiercely locked eyes with him, searching for something. Slowly she smiled, holding out a hand.

"You promise?" The Doctor laughed, wrapping the girl in his arms for a brief hug before jumping to his feet.

"I promise. Five minutes." He shook her hand when she persisted in holding it out and then he was grabbing onto a long rope and abseiling down into the box. Amelia watched until the blue box was disappearing, making the same wheezing noise it had made when it arrived and then she was running back to the house where she would pack a big suitcase, tow it outside and sit and wait all night.

Xxxxx

"You understand I don't participate in aggressive activity." Castiel raised his hands, keeping his eyes on Dean as he walked to the other side of the room to inspect their collection. He sniffed the bone, smiling at the righteous essence of it. "Mm, Sister Mary Constant, good choice."

Dean took a deep breath, trying to think of anything but how this wasn't his Cas anymore. He didn't even look the same, no more scruffy, almost undone tie or black suit under his trenchcoat. Just those white scrubs that reminded him of what he had done to this poor son of a bitch.

"What did you do to Meg, Cas?"

"When I left I wanted to observe the flowers – and fruit – flowers come first obviously, but I heard nothing from them." Cas's gaze flickered as he went from looking to Dean to the ceiling, the floor, his coat and then back to Dean, his voice thoughtful.

Sam shook his head slightly, still getting used to this new Castiel. "Heard nothing from who?"

"The garrison." That caused Dean and Sam to share an alarmed expression as the same thought crossed their mind.

"What happened to the garrison?" Sam questioned Castiel, his shoulders slumping as he anticipated the bad news.

"Well finally the silence was deafening so I went to look at the home of the prophet." Cas walked back down, towards Sam and Dean. "You know Leviathan can kill angels, it's the reason my Father locked them in purgatory, they're the piranha that would eat the whole aquarium." Cas walked back up, away from them again, unable to keep still. "They're gone. The entire garrison, dead. If there's anyone left at all, they're in hiding."

"Um, I'm sorry, the angels are dead… where's Kevin?" Dean stepped forward.

"I could steal them from their cages, the monkeys, but where would I put them all-"

"Hey! Focus! Is Kevin alive?" Dean shouted, his frustration overwhelming him.

"I don't want to fight!" Castiel avoided Dean's gaze then looked up, looking fragile and guilty and Dean bit his tongue, knowing that they needed Cas. It would not be good to scare him away.

"No, I'm not –" Dean looked to Sam, then licked his lips, taking a breath to calm himself before he carried on. "We're worried."

Cas nodded, regaining himself for a moment. "They took him. He's alive." He sighed, "I felt such responsibility but it's in your hands now-"

"Hold on a freaking minute." Dean exclaimed, taken aback.  
"I feel much better."

"Hey guys, what's all that?" Meg had turned to look at the basket of matches and candles and chalk.

"We called Crowley." A look of guilt flickered over Sam's face.

Meg looked sick. "You what?"

"Don't worry, he never showed." Dean growled, annoyed at the interruption.

"What do you mean he never –"

"You see him anywhere? He stood us up." Dean spread his arms, impatience wearing him thin.

"Well, I'm sorry about that but I'm outy, he could still show-" Meg edged for the door.

"Show up at any time." Crowley finished her sentence, appearing from nowhere, his voice turning smug as he glanced round the room. His eyes finally landed on the Winchesters.

"Hello boys, sorry I'm late. This is an embarrassment of riches." Crowley smirked.

"Stay, won't you? There's really nowhere to run." Crowley turned his attention to Meg who had frozen at his appearance but now seemed to regain control of her body and did exactly that, sprinting for the door.

Crowley appeared in front of her exit, his finger raised as if addressing a child. "Don't even think of smoking out, pussycat, I got eyes all over the place."

"Leave her be." Castiel walked forward, worried for his friend. He had grown to like Meg.

Crowley's eyes flickered to him, apparently happy Meg wasn't going anywhere, he stalked closer. "Castiel, the last we spoke you, well, enslaved me." Crowley looked dangerously angry. "I'm confused, why aren't you dead?"

"I don't know." Cas hesitantly replied.

"Well, do you want to be? Cause I can help with that!" Crowley's voice raised.

"Alright, enough!" Dean stopped Crowley, still in shock that this was happening.

"It's enough when I say, I came here to help you and find out you've been lying to me, harbouring an angel and not just any angel, the one angel I most want to crush between my teeth!"

"Oh, right. You can crush angels now, can you?" Meg sneered from behind him.

"You bore me, you know that, you have no sense of poetry." Crowley retorted, not bothering to look at her. "Now what do you have to say for yourself?"

Dean rolled his eyes, waiting for whatever mad response Castiel would say next. "Still honing my communication strategy. I haven't even been back to Heaven, I keep thinking there are no insects up there but down here we have trillions, busy making honey and silk and miracles really." Dean raised his eyebrows at Crowley, biting his cheek. Well done, Cas.

Crowley cocked his head, suspicion and confusion raging across his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Um, preferring insects to angels I guess. I can offer you a token if you like," Cas took a sandwich bag out of his pocket, filled with golden syrup. "Its honey, I collected it myself." Cas looked at Crowley hopefully, he just looked at Dean, uncomprehending.

Dean shrugged. "You're off your rocker." Crowley murmured, Cas turned away, his plight unsuccessful. "He's off his rocker, is that it?" He chuckled humourlessly, "Karma's a bitch, ain't it?" He said, picking up a glass of whiskey.

"Did you come here to donkey-punch your old grudges or to help us end dick? Pick a battle!" Dean finally ended the little discussion, getting back to what they all needed to do.

"Well, I'm vexed, I'd like to do both! But where's the fun in clobbering a ball of wet fur?' He put down the whiskey, looking subdued at Cas' shocked expression. "Text me when sparkles here receives his marbles, I suppose. Meanwhile, a pressie." Crowley pulled out a vial of blood, throwing it to Sam who deftly caught it.

"Really, boxed up and ready to go?" Sam asked, suspicious to say the least. The King of Hell wasn't usually such a good negotiator.

"I'm a model of efficiency."

"Is that so? Then why are you late?" Sam pressed, knowing that something was wrong.  
"Dick kept me in a Devil's Trap. He's not an idiot, he knows what you two are after."

"So what did he offer you?"

"A fair deal in exchange for giving you the wrong blood. It's demon but is it mine?" Crowley laughed, enjoying the distrustful looks on their faces. "Don't worry, it's mine."  
"Why should we trust you?"

"Oh, God. Don't! I learnt that from my last business partner." Crowley eyed Castiel.

He turned, smiled wanly at Meg, saying as a last goodbye "oh, and Meg, I'm gonna scoop you up, take you home and roast you till you're jerky once that bone is in Dick's heart."

And then he was gone and the Winchesters had all the ingredients to kill the Leviathan once and for all.

xxxxxx

The swimming pool was quiet except for the lapping of water and the sound of his footsteps. There was no sign of a criminal mastermind but he was confident he was listening, wherever he was. He twisted on the spot, inspecting his surroundings.

"Brought you a little getting to know you present." He lifted his hand, holding up a memory stick. "This is what it's all been for, isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance, all to distract me from this."

He turned sharply as a door creaked open behind him.

"Evening." John greeted him, dressed in a huge coat several sizes too big for him. "This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

"John, what the hell-" Sherlock, in one of those rare moments, was caught off guard, still digesting what his friend was doing here. Suspicions arose in his head, thoughts of betrayal that his mind was already becoming numb to.

"I bet you never saw this coming." John unzipped his coat, revealing wires attached to a plethora of explosives across his chest. "What would you like me to make him say next?"

Sherlock moved closer. "Gottle le Gier."

"Gottle le Gier." John repeated.

"Stop it."

"Nice touch this, the pool where little Karl died. I stopped him; I can stop John Watson too." John gulped, fear etched into his skin.

A red dot caressed the centre of his chest. "Stop his heart." John said.

"Who are you?" Sherlock spun round, waiting for the man to come out.

"I gave you my number!" A whiny voice called, reminding him of someone. "I thought you might call, is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket... or are you just pleased to see me?" A man in a neat, expensive suit waved casually from the other side of the pool.

Sherlock smiled, finally getting somewhere. "Both." He pulled out the gun, aiming for his head.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" Jim introduced himself, seeming nonplussed about the gun aimed at his face. He strode closer, his footsteps loud in the quiet.

"Jim? Jim from the hospital?" Sherlock gripped his gun tighter as Moriarty moved closer.

"Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then I suppose, that was rather the point."

The red dot moved from John's chest and up to his forehead, John frowning at Sherlock. Sherlock gave the dot a filthy glare.

"Don't be silly, someone else is holding the rifle, I don't like getting my hands dirty. I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big, bad world. I'm a specialist, you see, like you." Moriarty gestured to Sherlock, laidback as if they were discussing the similarities between two characters.

"Dear Jim, will you fix it for me to get rid of my lovers nasty sister?" Sherlock growled.

"Just so." Moriarty grinned, looking rather pleased.

"Consulting criminal, brilliant." A hint of admiration entered Sherlock's tone but his gun remained put on Moriarty's head.

"Isn't it?" Moriarty shook his head, pride evident in his voice. John looked up at Sherlock, wondering just how long this would go on for.

"No one gets to me." Moriarty smirked. "And no-one ever will."

Sherlock cocked his gun. "I did."

"You've come the closest," Jim still didn't react to having a gun seconds from blasting his face off. "Now you're in my way." Jim scowled.

"Thank you."  
"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes, you did."

"Yeah, okay, I did." Moriarty shrugged, "but the show's over, Sherlock, daddy's had enough now." He sang. "I've shown you what I can do, I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even 30 million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although I have loved this. This little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT, playing gay, did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

John shivered, watching the little red dot move over him, hearing Moriarty talk about people's deaths as a game.

"People have died." Sherlock said, deadpan.

"That's what people DO." Moriarty shouted.

"I will stop you." Sherlock murmured.

"No, you won't." Moriarty shook his head, confident.

"Yeah, right."

Moriarty crept a little closer, leaning in beside John. "You can talk Johnny Boy, go ahead."

John nodded at Sherlock, silent communication ran between them.

"Take it." Sherlock held out the memory stick.

"Huh? Oh. That. Missile plan." Moriarty kissed it as he took it from Sherlock then smiled, lifting his eyes to Sherlock's. The gun just centimetres from his face. "Boring. I could've got them anywhere." He pulled a shocked face, throwing the plans into the water.

In that moment John leapt on him, grabbing him so he couldn't escape.

"Good! Very good." Moriarty crowed.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, we both go up." John hissed.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around, but then people do get so sentimental about their pets. So touchingly loyal." Moriarty leered then watched coyly as the red dot moved to Sherlock's head. Bright red on his pale skin.

"Gotcha." John went still, releasing Moriarty as Sherlock watched the dot.

"Westwood." Moriarty swept his suit off. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? Do you?"

"Oh, let me guess, I get killed."  
"Kill you?" Moriarty winced, "no, don't be obvious, I mean I'm gonna kill you anyway someday, I don't wanna rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you, I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I've been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock replied, grimly.

"We both know that's not quite true." Moriarty smiled to himself then quickly shrugged. "Well, I betta be off. So nice to have a proper chat."  
"What if I was to shoot you right now?" Sherlock raised the gun a bit higher, emphasizing his point.

"Well, then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." Moriarty did an effective imitation of surprise. "Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock, really I would and just a teensy bit disappointed. But then you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Chow, Sherlock Holmes."

Moriarty walked away, Sherlock's gun kept trained on him. "Catch. You. Later."

"No, you won't!" Moriarty sang back, and then he was gone.

Xxxxxx

Dean peered past the window and into the laboratory, eyeing the Dick Roman that was inspecting a yoghurt. He motioned for Cas to look, wondering how many more Dicks they'd have to check after this, how many had he made? Cas looked back, eyes shining victoriously. He nodded. It was time.

"You know this might end up the slickest little genocide in history." Dick admired the yoghurt, thinking of how brilliantly things were really working out. Those hunters, demons and vampires were out of the way and everything was going according to plan.

"Thank you, sir." A plain man in a white overall coat was packing things away into a cardboard box.

"Just saying, I smell promotion." Dick drank the yoghurt thing, turning away from Plain Man.

That's when Dean cut off Plain Man's head.

Black blood oozed onto the floor, his body acting as a border between Dean, Cas and Dick.

"A little abrupt, but okay." Dick raised his eyebrows, smiling, turning to face them. "Castiel, good to see you again, thanks for the ride into paradise."

Dean pulled out the blood soaked bone, thinking of how much he was going to enjoy killing this monster.

"Good on you, pulling that together." Dick praised him, annoyingly smug.

"Well, you don't think this will work, do you? You trust that demon?" Dean walked closer, stepping over the body and right into Dick's personal space.

"You sure I'm even me, Dean?" Dick asked, not backing away.

"No," Dean shook his head, "but he is." Dean gestured to Castiel, confident Cas was right.

"So, here's the thing when dealing with Crowley. He will always find a way to bone you." Dean waved the bone in front of Dick's face.

"This meetings over." Dick stepped forward; about to finish Dean once and for all but Castiel pushed Dean behind him, getting tossed behind Dick in the process, crashing into the wall.

That was when Dean pushed the bone into Dick's heart.

Dean backed away, expecting something. Dick pulled it out, snapping it in half. "Did you really think you could trump me?"

"Honestly, no." Castiel grabbed the back of Dick's head, pulling it back in time for Dean to stick the real bone through Dick's throat. Dick screamed, or more like gargled.

Sam burst through the door, prophet in tow, staying back as Dick's head suddenly exploded with in a mesh of teeth to become the huge mouth of the Leviathans.

"Thought we had to catch you off guard."

Black blood trickled down Dick's face, the air burst around him in short waves, speeding up and surrounding Dean and Cas and then all at once it was forced back into Dick and there was an eruption of black ooze.

And when Sam looked back, all three were gone.


	2. How They Met

Xxxxxxx

The Doctor stumbled as the TARDIS shook dangerously, something big was happening. He closed the door on the cosmos, still feeling the ominous cold of that crack, how it had left him feeling like something was crawling on his skin, watching him. He tried to reset the co-ordinates to get back to Amelia, the old girl needed some practice again -she was all confused- but as he entered digits, the TARDIS spun crazily, knocking the Doctor onto the floor, crashing against the sofa.

There was a final spark that reminded him of a cough and then the TARDIS was still, her interior darker than usual. The Doctor stood up, rubbing his back; he glanced around, not liking the unhealthy demeanour of his baby.

"That's twice in one… however long it's been!" He stroked a hand over his groovy, new console, relieved when the power systems lit up and flickered under his touch, and rapidly brought the scanner screen around. He touched a few keys and suddenly a picture of outside was brought up.

"Where have you brought me, Sexy?" The Doctor murmured, studying the screen, his hands roaming through his messy, thick hair. A black splattered laboratory was outside with expensive looking equipment on metal tables and a rather large man who was staring in confusion at his TARDIS. He looked abandoned all alone in this wrecked laboratory.

"Why'd you bring me here, huh?" The Doctor murmured, his fuzzy eyebrows converging, looking at the tall, large man with long, brown locks of hair worthy of a L'Oreal advert. He paused to look at the screen a second longer before tapping the screen, turning it black, "Ah, could be fun though!"

He swivelled round, tweaking his bowtie and grinning. "Time to meet…" He frowned, unsure how to finish his sentence, he still felt all jumbled up and new. It was disconcerting, which probably explained his next word. "Moose!"

He skipped over his glass floor, charging down the steps and swinging open the door. He fell outside, and straight into a bit of weird, timey-wimey, spacey-wacey stuff. He garbled a shout between "Whoa, it's all feely!" and "Gah, moose!" as he saw the tall man from his Scanner. Who was pointing a gun straight at his face.

He was staring right at him, looking lost and slightly shocked, but not the usual 'ah, that man just came out of that box that wasn't here a minute ago', he was breathing heavily, the man looked close to breaking down. Even as The Doctor's stomach churned and he leapt away from the all the weird stuff, he was contemplating how he may have just appeared at a very bad moment. But that was just how it always was.

"Who the hell? What the hell?" Moose muttered, his American accent drawing The Doctor's attention as he waved the gun at his face. He was shaking ever so slightly, but that was to be expected, it was weird when people stepped out of 1960s London police boxes that weren't there seconds before. But it didn't mean there was a need to put a gun in their face.

"I'm the Doctor and that's a gun. And I really do not like guns so please put it away." The Doctor scowled, eyeing the man. He was wearing a worn pair of old jeans, a brown plaid shirt and a blue jacket but his clothes looked limp on him like he'd shrunk. His eyes were red but they were focused now, The Doctor had provided a good distraction it seemed.

"No. What are you?" The man growled, his hand steadying and he stepped forward, waves of confusion and anger rolling off him. The Doctor frowned, retreating slightly, hands up. This really was a bad moment.

"Look, look now. Just put the gun away, there is no need for a weapon. I haven't got anything to hurt you with and I certainly have no motivation to hurt you – except for you pointing a gun at me, but that's why we're-"

"Shut up! Tell me what you are and what you want." The Moose grunted, a dark coldness lining his words. This certainly wasn't what the doctor had expected.

"That's enough." The Doctor withdrew his sonic screwdriver, aiming at the Moose's gun as it let out its warbling sound. The Moose jerked back, firing off a few rounds redundantly. Hopefully that weapon wouldn't be usable for a while.

"What did you do?" The Moose cried, staring at the gun as though someone had died. Americans.

"Setting 92. Permanently jam gun. First time I've bothered with that setting actually, very glad it works." The Doctor nodded to himself, using this peaceful moment to properly acquaint himself with his surroundings. It really was just a messed up lab, some crushed cardboard boxes which looked suspiciously like someone had been thrown at them. A pool of black liquid on the floor and splattered on the walls yet Moose seemed unaffected so maybe he hadn't been in the room when whatever had happened had happened.

Moose looked resignedly at The Doctor, repeating once more. "Are you going to tell me what's happening or what?" The Doctor grinned, much happier with this request, it had a much less distinct taste of threatening.

"Sure, I was in my TARDIS – that blue box – when suddenly it was shaking and spinning and it landed me here where I got out and was confronted with a gun. Hello, I'm The Doctor." The Doctor held out his hand which Moose just raised his eyebrows at, but The Doctor was patient and after a minute of awkward silence Moose took it.

"Sam, my story is quite a bit longer." He still seemed wary and he let go quickly, casting his gaze around the room, a flicker of despair entering his expression.

"Well, I have plenty of time." The Doctor smiled gently.

Xxxxxxx

Sam was still getting over the fact Dean was gone. Crowley had took the prophet and left with the news that Sam still had to keep the Leviathans from getting organised again but this time it would be on his own because Dean was gone, along with Castiel and Bobby had been burnt to ashes and all the Hunters they knew were either dead or still bristling over the fact the Winchesters had brought the Devil up. He was utterly alone.

Until the British hipster guy turned up, calling himself the Doctor. Saying he'd come from the tiny blue box now parked in the corner of the room where Dick had exploded. Sam didn't even know what to make of him except he really didn't like having a gun pointed at him, which was reasonable, and he was weird because people don't appear out of nowhere unless they're demons or angels. But Crowley had no need to contact him, he'd been here seconds ago, and angels didn't usually turn up in old fashioned blue telephone boxes or waving about strange multiple setting wand things.

"You still haven't told me what you are." Sam reminded The Doctor, less wary now. Though he was weird he seemed pretty harmless, if he'd wanted to hurt him surely he'd have done it by now.

"Okay, promise you'll keep any weapons out of this discussion?" The Doctor waited until Sam nodded. Then he edged towards his blue box – TARDIS- standing in front of the doors.

"Right, I'm a Timelord from the planet Gallifrey and this is my spaceship, the TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension I-" The Doctor began but Sam couldn't hold in his disbelief for long. Did this guy think he was funny?

"You're a freaking alien? That's what you're telling me! Did someone put you up to this? Gabriel?" Sam suddenly burst out, he felt the need to get his knife out but he kept his hands down, no weapon would do him any good if this was Gabriel's doing. Sam shook his head; Gabriel sure couldn't have picked a worst time to mess with his head.

"Yes! I'm an alien, a Timelord!" The Doctor exhaled in relief, taking his outburst for something other than disbelief apparently, and promptly opened the doors to his "spaceship". Sam didn't even want to look, he imagined some sick parody of a spaceship, a probing machine and a disco ball where they'd later slow dance if Gabriel still had the same sense of humour since death. But as he pushed away his doubts long enough to peer inside, his jaw dropped, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Nothing like what he would expect of Gabriel. He moved forward unconsciously, staring at the stairs and the console and the room ten times the size of the box he could see.

"What? How?" The questions left him without his permission. He touched the door, it was solid and real, what was happening?

"It's a TARDIS. Like I was explaining, Time and Relative Dimension In Space, basically its bigger on the inside." The Doctor added when Sam looked at him, his hand holding his forehead as he tried to absorb this.

"Go in, it'll help." The Doctor grinned, pride evident in his voice but Sam could barely concentrate on The Doctor as he took a step inside, his feet landing on a solid, glass floor, he almost fell forward. He had been expecting this hallucination to end.

"And you're an alien…" Sam murmured, walking up the steps that shouldn't have been in such a small space.

"Yep!" The Doctor shouted gleefully, happy that Sam was beginning to accept it. Sam cupped his jaw, staring round at the stairs leading up and down into other areas. It was huge.

"There's a library, a pool, some squash courts, my own wardrobe. It's great in here." The Doctor studied Sam, and Sam looked back.

"Then why do you look like humans?" He took in The Doctors form, though he was strange looking with floppy, brown hair and wore weird clothes like that tweed jacket and the bowtie and red suspenders he was definitely human looking.

"Actually Timelords came first so you look Timelord. Now, I've told you everything about me, what happened here?" The Doctor looked more serious, his eyes sweeping over his TARDIS and then back to Sam as if he was part of a puzzle and he was trying to see where he fit.

Sam sighed, giving in. This alien was probably the only guy who could help him anyway.

"This is a long story. Have you heard of Leviathans?" The Doctor shook his head, intrigued. And so Sam explained how it had took everything to bring them to this point.

Xxxxx

"Um, John Watson. We booked a room for a night." John gestured to himself and Sherlock and the woman nodded, her eyes lingering on Sherlock longer than John thought necessary.

"Right. Oh, um, there seems to be a mistake. It says twin room; do you want me to change it?" The woman looked up, totally confident in her assumptions and John was so close to shouting he was not gay but he shoved it down, forcing a polite smile.

"Um, no. A twin room is what I asked for. Thank you." The woman looked surprised but she didn't push him, after signing the appropriate documents they finally got their key and took their luggage up to their room. Sherlock watching everyone, probably deducing who was an alcoholic, having an affair and just being Sherlock.

John just couldn't wait to go to sleep, the flight had been long. He'd flown long distances before but ten hours with Sherlock moaning and fidgeting because he wasn't able to sit perched on his seat like at home had strained him direly. Sherlock had ended up bitching about half of the people on the flight which just wasn't cool, not when they were in an enclosed space for ten hours in mid-air and the majority were Americans.

John didn't know if he'd ever forgive Mycroft for sending them here. He kept thinking that he'd have to endure the same thing all over again when they went back, the idea made him cringe.

"You okay, John?" Sherlock asked, looking sharp as ever, seemingly unaffected by jetlag. John felt only dislike and dread. If Sherlock stayed this alert, he may not be able to get any sleep.

"Fine, tired. Aren't you?" John sighed, seeing Sherlock staring at a woman trying to get into her room. She looked completely plastered if John was honest.

"That's the fifth time she's put that key into the door." Sherlock murmured before charging off and taking the girl's arm. She looked groggily up at him, not seeming concerned at all that a strange man had roughly stolen her limb.

"Are you okay, madam?" Sherlock asked directly, John grimaced, rolling his eyes.

The woman giggled, "you're British!" She then sobered slightly and slurred "I can't get into my room."

John raised an eyebrow. It was still only 7pm, a bit early for her to be this drunk.

"Let me see that." Sherlock whipped the key from her hand, looking at the number; he gave her the look he usually reserved for Anderson.

"You're at the wrong door, that's why. It's this one." He pulled her roughly down the hall, dragging her till she was standing outside her room.

"Sherlock!" John hissed, no matter how drunk she was, this woman might remember in the morning and there was no Lestrade or Mycroft in the USA to help them if they got in trouble.

"Shh, John." He scowled at John, pulling his 'don't you see how serious this is?' face. Sherlock turned back to the woman. "Would you like me to open it for you?" The woman looked in a daze, still trying to comprehend how she had got here and why.

John couldn't help but feel sorry for her, Sherlock really didn't have any social etiquette, it wasn't fair for this woman to get dragged into his obsessions.

"Why are we doing this, Sherlock?" John growled, keeping an eye out for anyone who might suspect what two men were doing with this intoxicated woman. He sighed, this was so bad.

'Oh, come on, John." Sherlock groaned, opening the door and striding inside as though this was completely normal. He pulled the woman inside and meaningfully eyed the door so John closed it.

"This woman is acting stoned and yet I smell no drugs on her breath, her eyes aren't dilated nor are there any other symptoms of drug usage. She's dressed in a business suit that's either shrunk or she's gaining weight exponentially, her nails look they were once manicured regularly but now are chipped and…" Sherlock grabbed her handbag, the woman looked confused for a moment then pottered off to turn on the telly and sat on her bed. John watched her, unbelieving. Even a drunk person would have reacted by now, called the police or tried to punch Sherlock, he would have.

"Ah, ha! Yes, and she's carrying around a bag full of food, yet look at her, this is a woman who cares or at least used to care about her appearance. Her nails and highlighted hair and suit all suggest this. But now she's just a lazy moron." John was still staring at the three wrapped burgers Sherlock had pulled out of her Prada handbag as Sherlock paced, his hands roaming through his hair like he did when he was so close to realizing something.

He picked up one of them; it was cold and slimy in his hands. He removed the layer, and then cried out in shock as the burger gurgled and released a burst of blue slime. He covered his mouth, feeling sick but he held it in. He'd still seen plenty worse, this was just weird.

"Oh, this is just perfect. I think we've caught onto something already, John. Though this seems a big large-scale for Moriarty, you know, not very personal." Sherlock seemed almost giddy as he picked up the burger, examining the slime.

"Well, I think I've got everything here. Bye, Madam, thank you for letting us in!" Sherlock waved, opening the door and leaving, excited about his new discovery.

The woman didn't even acknowledge their absence.

xxxxxx


	3. Just Chillin'

xxxxxxx

"Wake up."

Dean blinked awake, opening his eyes to nothing but darkness. For a moment he felt overwhelmed by confusion, unsure if he had opened his eyes at all. Gingerly he sat up, seeking light, Cas, and Sam; praying they were alright.

Everything was inky and cold. He wondered briefly if he just couldn't see through the thick black sludge Dick Roman had splattered, but after a moment his vision adjusted to reveal spindly trees and overgrown brush.

"Good. We need to get out of here."

Dean turned, taking in Cas' bright white hospital clothes and the distinct lack of Sam, and definitely not liking the way Cas was looking around, unsure. Cas' tone wasn't helping either.

"Where are we?" Dean asked, letting his eyes slide from Cas' face as he stood. Pressing around them were bare, frail trees that made Dean feel uneasy in the sudden darkness. Already his mind spiralled, trying to place where they were, where Sam and Kevin were, if Dick was somehow still around, and how he was going to get a mentally unstable angel to safety without nakedness, board games, or cat penises.

"You don't know?" Castiel frowned, looking at him as if it were obvious. Which it really, really wasn't. Dean turned back sharply from inspecting his surroundings to stare. Cas' voice was firm, which he noticed first. It wasn't nearly as distant or whimsical; he sounded firm and alert. He sounded like his Cas.

Dean drank in the pulled together eyebrows, slightly down-turned jaw, and lips that were beginning to purse shut, feeling as though he had been momentarily caught.

"Last I remember," he said, running over the facts in his mind while shaking his head softly, blinking, trying to work it out for himself and failing, "We got Dick."

Cas' eyebrows rose higher, his eyes wide. Dean stared at the whites, trying to decide if the expression was alarm, fear, concern, exasperation? It certainly looked exasperated; like the old 'I'm an Angel of The Lord – why don't you understand what I'm telling you?' exasperated. He hadn't seen any expression like this on Cas' face for a while - he looked almost serious for once, instead of thinking about lipstick on monkeys.

"And where would he go in death?"

Dean had to let the truth settle slowly in his mind, quickly running through everything they knew about Dick; he was a monster, he ate people, Castiel let him in when he sucked in souls from-

"What, are you tellin' me-"

"Every soul here is a monster." Castiel said flatly, glancing away. Dean could hear the sound of leaves rustling behind him - of something stalking round them - but when he looked, he couldn't make anything out through the darkness.

"This is where they come to prey upon each other for all eternity." The angel explained.

This was not happening. Dean's eyes widened, adrenaline seeping into his veins as his mind conjured up the horrifying possibilities.

"We're in purgatory?" He asked numbly, eyes flicking between Cas and the emptiness.

He knew the answer. But he still desperately wished Cas would bark his hippy laugh, clap him on the shoulder, say 'you're such fun, Dean' and click his fingers, and they'd be back in the safe house with Sam, Cas telling him how important it is to not trust everything he senses, and then running off to chase a bee. Really anything would be preferable to what was happening right now.

Cas said nothing. Dean scrambled.

"How do we get out?"

If this was real, they needed a plan. His mind raced, but he was hitting brick walls on all sides.

"I'm afraid we're much more likely to be ripped to shreds." The angel admitted through his tensed jaw, again looking away for a split second, seeing something Dean couldn't. It made his skin crawl. Reminded him of the Hell Hounds. He felt helpless, and exposed, and very vulnerable. He only had the demon knife and his gun on him, and he didn't feel confident about his chances on the home turf of Monsterland.

Suddenly, whatever Cas had sensed earlier made itself known. It snarled, a curling ripping sort of noise that made Dean whirl around, searching for the source of the sound. He squinted into the darkness, watching red lights bob in the abyss. They needed to get away, now.

"Cas, I think we better-" Dean turned, whispering in his fear and hesitation. Running was the only option, assuming they could. But as soon as the word 'go' left his mouth he saw emptiness.

No Cas. Just continuous dark woodland, and the snarling behind him growing louder.

"Cas?" He hissed. Shadows flickered around him of monsters prowling closer, and he had nothing and no-one.

Xxxxxxx

"So, this 'angel' released the Leviathans into the world from Purgatory, and they tried to convert the human population into livestock, but you had a spell using 'demon' blood and a righteous bone and stuff that would kill the boss of the Leviathans and 'leave the body floundering,' and when you did that the boss guy exploded in black goo and took your brother and this angel with him?" The Doctor was sceptical at best - he'd met his fair share of crazy cult members, and Sam was fitting pretty neatly into that group, though his story was certainly the wildest he'd heard in a few centuries.

"Yes. Basically, I suppose. You don't look convinced." Sam fidgeted, he looked like he'd never heard it from someone else's point of view, that put a hole in the 'crazy cult member' theory, but despite the Doctor's constant open-mindedness he was having difficulty accepting this.

"Sorry, 900 year old Timelord here, struggling to believe in the concept of Heaven and Hell, angels and demons, that sort of thing. Nice theory and all, but I've always been a scientist. I always appreciate a bit of evidence, me." The Doctor's tone was light, but he had been shaken by this man and how he really seemed to believe this stuff, and after they got over the gun thing he really was a nice guy. The Doctor fiddled with his console, his mind racing, trying in some way to keep it together without just screaming 'WHAT?WHAT?WHAT?' Despite this new him, that was exactly what he wanted to do right now.

Sam was silent for a few minutes, staring at the floor, seemingly deep in thought, before turning a determined face on the Doctor. 'Um. If 900 year old Timelords can read minds, I have some pretty convincing memories.'

The Doctor paused, he could of course do something similar but minds were so easily manipulated. If he truly believed this stuff, he could have warped, self deceptive memories, but then there was only so much manipulation possible - usually the Doctor could still see through to the truth behind it. He considered Sam; the man looked like it had taken a few guts to say that, and he obviously needed someone to believe in him, otherwise there was no way Sam would have stayed as long as he had.

'You're in luck, there is very little 900 year old Timelords can't do! Blimey, that's a mouthful; let's just call me the Doctor again." He stepped closer, tone softening as he said, "It helps if you close your eyes. This may feel weird but just try to relax." He pressed the pads of his fingers to Sam's temples, his thumbs resting on his jaw. He had to almost go on tip toes in order to do it. Slowly a door opened in his mind, and then he was seeing into Sam.

He saw and felt things he'd never thought he'd see in another man, skin being flayed and burned and cut at the same time, pain that never numbed and roared in intolerable volumes through his body and disgusting, heart wrenching images of a woman burning on a ceiling, her stomach cut open. Another man being ripped to pieces by an invisible force, a man with red eyes refusing to make a deal. An angel bursting with light as she swallowed her grace, a huge, dark force entering his body.

The Doctor leapt away, breathing hard, sweating profusely. His two hearts hammered at his rib cage, his body in shock from the startling onslaught of pain and raw emotion that he never would have expected to be sheltered in such a normal human. Or at least normal in that he wasn't broken down in some psychiatric hospital, or a serial killer.

"Okay. I – I think I believe you now." The Doctor huffed, pulling himself to sit down on the sofa, and he was not fond of sitting, except possibly on a swing.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to be sick." Sam choked, curled over and holding onto the console for support.

"Toilet's that way." The Doctor pointed in a general direction and then Sam was running, The Doctor really hoped he made it.

Xxxxxxxxxx

"This is boring, John. It's too quiet here; I can almost smell the contentedness in the air." Sherlock moaned, sprawled across the bed, face twisted in a mask of disgust.

John groaned, staring at his watch. He had been trying to get to sleep for exactly 67 minutes now. "I don't know what air you're smelling, Sherlock, but there is no contentedness here." He sighed, pushing back the headache that was threatening to overtake him, and sitting up. Scowling at Sherlock, John grabbed his laptop, switching it on and focusing intently on the screen, not giving Sherlock the satisfaction of an explanation.

He didn't need one apparently. He was already up and at the door, grinning at John.

"While you do that, I shall fetch some practical research. Won't be long!" And Sherlock was gone with a swish of his coat, the door slamming behind him.

John winced, looking back at his pillow in anguish. How long would it be until he could sleep? He rolled his eyes, typing in his password, and promising himself that once he found something he would go straight to bed.

He opened Google chrome, grunting when some wireless hotspot site came up demanding he pay for his internet. He leaned back onto his bed, feeling the resignation that this wasn't going to be a quick and easy five minute search setting in.

Eventually, after all his details had been entered, he was online – though only for a limited amount of time, the prices weren't exactly fair. He pulled up Google and typed the first thing that came to his tired, addled mind.

**Blue goo in old burger stoned effect America**

Not surprisingly, this came up with some not very convincing websites – blogs to do with burgers, McDonalds, the definition of blue goo. He checked a few out, not finding much until he came across a dubious website called . After giving it a quick look over John was close to hysterics (although was probably mainly due to sleep deprivation). It just seemed to be a gang of kids who videoed creepy houses and had done a tutorial about how to kill ghosts. But since he hadn't exactly found much else, he decided to read their latest blog.

It seemed the kids had spent the night in a creepy wood, and had happened to need a feast of junkfood to do it. After eating a lot of the food, most of the gang became pretty stoned and disregarded the salt line, alerting the two of the gang unaffected that something was wrong and they weren't 'staying razor'. After a few hours the kids had recovered so, John reasoned, at least the effect wasn't permanent. The only two not affected were vegans, who had been eating much healthier food.

This was something, John figured; not much, but it suggested that it wasn't only burgers that had this weird stuff in it. Nonetheless he still didn't know why Moriarty, or anyone for that matter, would want the population to be constantly stoned. He wondered if the food supply in any other countries was contaminated.

That was when Sherlock burst in, carrying an indefinite amount of shopping, radiating Sherlock's equivalent of joy – it was almost as terrifying as Sherlock covered in blood holding a harpoon.

"John, I have an idea!" Sherlock dumped the bags on the bed, eyes shining with anticipation. John stared at the mess of foodstuffs now littering his bed. He yawned pointedly.

Sherlock missed the point, continuing to talk as John adamantly stayed silent.

"I did my research, Americans are really quite amusing, and I found that most of the teenage population on my way to the shops were in the same condition we found our neighbour in earlier on." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, clearly getting at something he found obvious. What he obviously did not get was THE TIME.

Sherlock shook his head, exasperated, and threw himself onto his bed.

"Teenagers, John! They're the key. Teenagers eat rubbish and that woman was eating rubbish. So it's all rubbish!" He gesticulated wildly with his arms.

John couldn't stay quiet any longer, afraid that Sherlock would keep on rambling.

"Right. So why the shopping?" John pointed to the bags layered on HIS bed, struggling to keep his thoughts to himself. It was amazing just how many times in that sentence he had heard Sherlock say 'Punch me in the face. Now.' Truly extraordinary.

"Because every theory needs to be tested, John. It's simple, I eat the fruit and healthy vegetation, and you get to eat the rubbish." Sherlock had sat up, his gaze pinning John. His smile so shit-eating, John didn't even need to hear him ask for what he deserved.

"And why do I have to eat the rubbish? And more importantly, why should I?" John asked. He knew Sherlock would already have answers for both questions, but he still wasn't going to just agree.

"Firstly, you're obviously tired, and the sugary, fatty foods will boost your energy levels and preserve you through this difficult time. Secondly, I don't exactly metabolise these sorts of chemicals at a normal rate, and we need to test it on the kind of person they're expecting to eat it. Thirdly, if you do it I'll let you sleep."

John frowned, fully knowing how capable Sherlock would be of further depriving him of sleep – he had bloody brought his violin, for Christ's sake– and while getting stoned had not been on his agenda, perhaps it would be preferable to being rational at this moment in time.

"Fine."

Sherlock threw him a packet of crisps, grabbing himself an apple. John broke the packet open, the cheesy tang of Dorito's sweeping over him and making him glad he hadn't eaten on the plane.

"If I do this, do I get a cup of tea?" John said, taking a bite.

"Sure." Sherlock said in a way John knew meant 'if you're still sober enough to remember.'

John took a handful more and shoved them in, throwing the packet away still half-full, and taking a bar of chocolate. He just wanted this to be over, now.

Sherlock carried on calmly eating his apple, his mouth opening wide and then biting down, the apple's flesh crunching crisply. A slight dribble went down his chin, and John found himself watching as he finished off the chocolate bar. He reached forward, opening a packet of toffee popcorn, and continued to watch as Sherlock wiped away the juice with his long fingers, then licked his lips slowly, almost alluringly.

John looked away, but he didn't stop eating. His cheeks were red and he felt flushed, though he couldn't think why.

"Feel anything?" Sherlock asked, unaware of John's stares.

"No." John said quickly, but then he found himself sneaking another look at Sherlock, who was licking at the leftover juice on the apple's skin. John shoved another load of popcorn into his mouth, eyes wide, hating the images that tongue produced in his mind.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock said, looking over at him, taking another bite.

"I don't think so. Maybe. I feel a bit strange." John gulped, his heart twisting as Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, and stood up, taking his head in his hands and looking at his eyes.

"Really?" John nodded, trying to control his breathing.

"Your pupils are a little dilated." Sherlock moved away again, still watching him.

"What?" John said, taking a long swig of Fanta, feeling dehydrated.

"There are barely any signs, apart from your accelerated speech and general offish-ness. Normally drug use will cause the body to sweat, the pupils to rapidly dilate, movement to become sluggish or energetic, and yet you exhibit none of these symptoms." Sherlock looked perplexed, taking apart an orange as he appraised the drug.

"I can't stop eating." John commented through a mouthful of cake. (He didn't care if it was rude, this stuff was good.) The thought flitted treacherously across his mind that Sherlock's fingers looked really good as they peeled the orange.

"Hm. Did you find anything while I was out?" Sherlock said, beginning to look at the backs of the packets of the things John was eating.

"Ghostfacers." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that, but John just pointed to his laptop; Sherlock was disturbing him from eating.

Sherlock flicked down their blog, leaning across John's legs and John ruffled his hair – it was as soft as it looked.

Sherlock shooed his hand off and John felt momentarily sad before he took another bite of cake.

"Well then, my hypothesis is almost certainly correct." Sherlock smiled back at him but John just nodded.

"You are definitely not 'razor'," Sherlock chuckled. "Now we just have to find the common ingredient." Sherlock gathered the packets, handing John the empty popcorn bag and chocolate bar wrapper. John looked at them, confused, there was no food here.

"Find any ingredient that's listed in both, okay?" Sherlock explained when he looked at John doing nothing.

"Okey dokey!" John nodded, reading aloud the ingredients, shouting 'nope' and 'yes' whenever he found a match.

"John." John looked down, Sherlock was glaring at him.

"Yes?"

"Quieter?"

"Okey dokey!" And this time John tried to say it quietly, because he didn't want Sherlock to be mad. They stayed like that for a while, Sherlock listing the ingredients they found in all of the junk food on a hotel pad.

"That's it. You can sleep now, John. I'm going to try to trim down the list." Sherlock stood up, taking the laptop to his bed.

"Thanks, Sherlock." John threw the packets away and noisily snuggled back into his warm duvet but before he could close his eyes he peeked from behind the covers.

"If you need any help, I'm here." John yawned, smiling at his friend and grinning when Sherlock gave him his rare smiles back.

"It's alright, John. Sleep now."  
"You sleep too, Sherlock. You need to sleep too."

After a while, Sherlock heard John's breathing deepen, but he stayed sat upright for a long time, thinking about some things he knew he really shouldn't allow himself to consider. Because although John never hesitated to sacrifice himself for Sherlock, his motivations were not the same as the ones Sherlock had observed in others. John was a soldier and a loyal friend, who would rather die than betray him, who remains his friend despite being strapped to a bomb for it, who at the Pool laid his own life on the line without thinking, but backed off as soon as Sherlock's was threatened. John was his only friend and despite what John thought, Sherlock would never do anything to hurt him. Sherlock felt an emotional attachment to John that he'd thought himself incapable of, and yet he found he couldn't name it. It was with these thoughts that he finally fell asleep.


	4. Monsters

Xxxxxxx

"Dean!" Cas's strangled voice reached him and without thinking, Dean was recklessly running towards it, his heart racing, his mind going blank as he considered losing Cas again.

"Cas!" He called, leaping over branches and around thick nests of trees, he could hear branches snapping around him and the snarl of creatures awakening to his presence, but he didn't care. If he didn't get to Cas, neither of them would survive.

There was a loud growl and groan as if Cas was being kicked and then there was only quiet. Dean kept running, his breath coming quick and heavy, his arms scratched by branches and thorns.

"Cas!" He screamed, scanning around him, desperation lacing his tone. And then he saw it, a flash of white in the darkness. He latched onto it, like a moth to a flame, flashes of a similar feeling overcoming him when he'd been all alone in a dark, dangerous place. Hope when he'd only felt anger and pain and shame.

Dean slowed slightly, quietening his steps, taking out his gun. He had four silver bullets which he shoved in, he grimaced, he had to make them last long enough to rescue Cas.

He squinted, trying to see anything in the darkness. He could just about make out a large, dark figure dragging Cas across the floor, he looked human enough, though bigger than Sam. Shadows flickered around them, suggesting there were others with him, just smaller.

Cas had gone still, Dean gulped down his the unexpected rage that swelled in his chest, trying to keep his gun hand steady. He would have to work on the advantage of surprise, because that always went so well. Not that he'd been screaming Cas's name a second ago or anything.

"Hello, Dean. What a surprise to see you here." Dean twisted, his heart tearing at the sound of that voice. And sure enough, standing behind him with a particularly smug grin, was Gordon with a big old branch. Dean lifted his gun to shoot, but not before Gordon hit him forcefully round the head.

…..

"Dean..?" Cas' rough voice woke Dean up from a very sore headache. He would have rubbed it, or checked it for blood had his hands not been tied up behind him. He groaned loudly, it really was their luck to be in Purgatory for 10 seconds and already be tied up. Stiffly, he opened his eyes, coming face to face with Gordon. That was somewhat startling, but with his still dizzy head, he barely reacted other than raising his eyebrows.

"Morning, sweetie." Dean choked out, forcing a smile. Gordon just kept staring, which was uncomfortable to say the least.

"How did you get here?" Gordon finally asked, his eyebrows creasing. Dean suddenly felt penetrated; Gordon must have checked him for monster signs. Ew.

"I must have took the wrong turn." Dean smiled lopsidedly, as if considering which turn it was.

"Dean." Cas rasped from behind him and Dean realized they must be tied to a post, back to back. At least Cas was near him.

"I'd listen to your friend, if you don't co-operate, I am quite willing to force the answers out of you. We have plenty of time and I have been ever so bored." Gordon snickered, his tongue flicking over his lips, momentarily revealing his long fangs. Dean shuddered but then chuckled back.

"I've been to Hell since you died, Gordon, let me tell you there is nothing you can do that hasn't already been done." Dean stared right back into Gordon's eyes, letting him see the truth in his determined, self-assured eyes.

"What about your brother? Whatever happened to Sam? He's not dead or he'd be here." Gordon stepped back, letting Dean see where they were. They seemed to be in a cave of some sort and then he noticed the reddish colour of the rock and the soft grainy sand he was sitting on, no longer woodland. Either Gordon could fly or Purgatory was more confusing than some Canadian woods. A fire also burned near them, which seemed to show they were at the back of this cave. Cut off from any quick exit.

"He's fine. Stopped the apocalypse, actually." Dean didn't mean to tell Gordon anything but his teeth still grinded at the spite in Gordon's voice, when Dean knew Sam was innocent. Quickly, he added, "Where are we?"

That stopped Gordon, his eyes sliding behind Dean.

"Ah, yes, the apocalypse. You know, I thought I remembered your friend." Gordon looked almost eager now, like he'd hit the jackpot as he stared at Cas. Dean wanted to hit him so hard; apparently a few years in Purgatory didn't make you less of a dick.

Gordon left Dean, pacing round to kneel by Cas. Dean squirmed, not liking being this powerless while Gordon could do anything to them. He tested the ropes but he was bound tight with no room to manoeuvre, he suddenly got a flash of déjà vu when Gordon had planned to blow up Sam, he felt himself gag.

"Castiel, isn't it?" Gordon whispered behind him, a possessive whisper but also one that lead Dean to believe there were other monsters around and Gordon didn't want them knowing he had their ex-container. At least not yet.

"Gordon Walker. The vampire slayer who became a monster. I'd suggest you leave if you don't want to die." Castiel growled yet somehow remained deadpan at the same time, Dean smirked, he was a true Winchester. Still able to threaten convincingly even when tied up and weapon-less.

"I don't know about that. Do you know how many monsters fantasize about carving you up around here? Your improvised torture has been providing the latest conversation for a long time now. The amount of flesh we'd get selling you would keep us happy for a long time." Dean could hear Gordon lean closer, his raspy voice getting horribly close.

"Leave him, Gordon!" Dean shouted, his heart pounding as so many mixed emotions rushed through him.

"Oh, don't worry, Dean. You, my boy, may fetch an even more handsome price, once I've had my own fun first, of course. I should live quite well after this." Gordon stood up, his eyes gleaming, and then suddenly he was at Dean's neck. Tongue tracing his skin before a jaw full of sharp teeth plunged into him, Dean spasmed, crying out, but not being able to as blood was dragged from his neck. The pain was overwhelming, already he felt his vision blacking out, Gordon's blood splattered mouth taking up his view.

But in an instant, Gordon was back to his feet, licking his lips. His eyes trained on Dean's neck where blood was still spilling at an alarming rate. Dean sucked in a breath, and another, struggling to breathe and feeling his whole body trembling from the shock. And then a rough hand enclosed his own, and after a warm flush he could breathe easier and the blood stopped flowing so dramatically. He coughed and spluttered as he adjusted but he mentally thanked Cas a billion times.

For the first time, Dean felt a trickle of fear, they had no escape and they were helpless and they would never die and they'd be here forever, being killed by monsters. By Gordon, of all things.

"So, Dean, are you going to tell me how you got here or not?" Gordon raised an eyebrow at their hands but Cas didn't let go and Dean was grateful, he felt sick.

"Why do you even care?" Dean spat, glaring at Gordon, determined to show him that one bite wasn't enough to rattle Dean Winchester.

"Because if there's a way in, there has to be a way out." Gordon said it as if he had been waiting for this moment for an eternity and his hungry eyes showed how desperate he was to have the answer.

"There's no getting out the way we came in, I can tell you that." Dean snarled, glad to hand this news over to Gordon.

"You taste good, you know that, Dean? Pretty hard to keep myself from stopping." Gordon stepped forward but wasn't able to come any closer before a huge arm suddenly stopped him in his tracks. Dean leaned forward, trying to see into the darkness to see what was attached to this arm, which was abnormally thick and… wait.

"Leave the prisoners. Outside, now." A heavy, huge voice commanded from the dark and Gordon immediately was withdrawing from them, not even risking a glance back. Dean felt Cas shudder behind him and gripped his hand in return, trying to offer comfort, no matter how poor. But whatever it was, it was obvious Gordon was scared of it. Which did not bode well. At all.

The creature stepped forward, revealing what Dean had feared, that hadn't been an arm. It was a huge tail. A tail that looked thick enough to do fatal damage when swung or when choking. It was now wrapped around this guy's stomach and that wasn't the end of it. Beneath the tail, Dean thought he could just about glimpse a hole full of jagged, numerous teeth. An effing mouth in his stomach.

The guy was normal enough apart from that though, two normal sized eyes above a nose and a mouth (another one, because one mouth just isn't enough). And a huge body – he looked like one of those Sumo wrestlers – without a nappy.

"Dean. Castiel." The guy spoke and though his mouth (his face one) moved the sound that came out of it shouldn't have been possible. It was such a huge noise, loud and guttural and wrong coming from an almost human-looking mouth.

"Yes." Castiel spoke this time, Dean was still staring.

"I am Behemoth." The man said slowly as if unused to speaking, moving a step closer and Dean noticed how large his feet were, how long his claws were. Dean looked back up, really not liking how close this guy was getting.

"I know. We have met before and we have also met your cousin, Leviathan." Castiel acknowledged, and Dean's eyes widened, suddenly seeing the family resemblance.

The Behemoth scowled at this, stamping his foot and making the ground tremble.

"Yes, Leviathan left me, stayed with you. He is not allowed to do that, I have been bored." The Behemoth stomped again and again, completing the Sumo look. Dean decided to stay quiet, Castiel was better equipped to handle this. Dean would just get stomped on most likely.

"But we have brought Leviathan back, and hope to bring back more." Castiel said, and Dean nodded.

"More leviathan! Nothing to kill." Behemoth shook its head and Dean wondered how these creatures could really be related. Leviathans were clever, this guy was a dumbass though the way he looked, he could see them being formidable enemies. It was good they hadn't partnered up he supposed.

"Yes. Exactly, but we cannot bring more back if you keep us here." Castiel pushed and Dean saw where Cas was going. He looked up at the big guy, suddenly thankful for his lack of brain cells.

But it was not to be so easy.

"Hm. I do not trust you. Gordy says you give us lots of flesh. But I do miss Leviathan. I think. Stay there, my prisoners!" And the guy was walking off, no longer making the ground shake but his tail now slid across the floor, flicking side to side.

"Well, at least Gordy isn't here anymore." Dean smiled wanly, really not looking forward to when Behemoth came back.

"We really need to get out of here, Dean." Castiel said, his voice edging towards despair, making Dean's insides go cold.

"I know, Cas. I know."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So Dean and Castiel disappeared after your brother 'ganked' Dick?" The Doctor hiccupped, throwing away another book onto the "NO USE AT ALL" pile and grabbing another from the still unstably high tower he had gathered on the library floor.

"Yup. Taken alone time to a new extreme." Sam chuckled, taking another swig of whatever The Doctor had given him. It had been needed after that memory trip.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at that, eyeing that bottle - it was so old, he couldn't remember what it was, except it had a very similar effect to alcohol. Sam laughed at his expression, shaking his head.

"You should see them, they constantly have these staring contests that's practically eye sex and Cas has no sense of personal space whatsoever which Dean just overlooks now." Sam exclaimed, trying and failing to read through the same passage of the book he'd been looking at for the last 5 minutes. Being drunk did not make it easy to read, though The Doctor seemed to be having no trouble.

"Then perhaps it will do them some good!" The Doctor chortled, finding the image of an angel falling for a human so terribly cliché, he couldn't help but laugh.

Sam laughed, full blown hysterical laughter that made him hold his stomach in pain. The Doctor smiled, he was not truly drunk, it took a lot to make a 900 year old Timelord drunk, but seeing Sam this genuinely happy made him feel like he'd just done a great deed. This man had not had enough good in his life and if he had to consume some of The Doctor's more suspicious liquids to be so then so be it.

There was a sudden beeping from his wrist and The Doctor jumped up, running round the swimming pool and down the steps. He distantly heard a splash as Sam must have accidentally fell in. He ignored it, skidding to a stop as he grabbed the screen.

He was still looking at it when Sam came hobbling down the steps, soaking wet. He glanced disapprovingly at Sam dripping on his floor before collapsing on his sofa, trying to think of solutions and absorb what he had just read.

Sam questioningly stood close, unsure about what to do, eventually he spoke up.

"Did you find something?" Sam's deep, suddenly more sober voice woke The Doctor from his thoughtful reverie. The Doctor briefly felt some remorse at the lost happy quirk to Sam's tone but it wasn't like he could keep Sam drunk forever. He looked up at Sam, and nodded.

"I think I found them," The Doctor said, carrying on as he saw Sam's face light up, "but it's not exactly just a quick fly in and back. As I suspected, I think they are in – Purgatory." It still did not flow easily for The Doctor but it wasn't something he could deny anymore.

"Okay, so we just need to find some way to get to Purgatory. Nothing is impossible; Lovecraft must have had something on it." Sam was already scheming, spurring The Doctor on.

"Nothing is impossible which is why I think we may not even need a spell, if we are lucky – maybe check that out, anyway – but looking at the TARDIS's analysis of the timey-wimey stuff, it would seem Purgatory is like a pocket dimension so while it will take more energy to get there and back, it is not impossible – not like crossing into parallel universes anyway." The Doctor spurted, spinning and running his fingers through his hair as he tried to think of where he could get the energy. It wasn't just that, of course, he would need to pinpoint the location and the time they disappeared and there was no definite chance he would be able to get back the same way. Plus the way the information the TARDIS had shown seemed to show another factor. Like a door. Something closing the way in. But it was ever so slightly ajar.

"A pocket dimension?" Sam said, looking like he was trying very hard to keep up which The Doctor admired. He was vaguely disappointed "parallel universes" hadn't caught him off-guard but maybe it was something he'd already encountered if he knew of angels and demons and such.

"Yeah, like a dimension within a dimension. They're comparatively small, reachable but separate "dimensions", and can contain different rules like magic or gravity. Some of them can even be reached through objects which are larger on the inside, like a door or like my TARDIS. Well, actually it's nothing like that, but if it helps." The Doctor shrugged, leaping down into his engine and starting to fiddle with wires and flashing his screwdriver at things.

Sam was doing a bitch face and he looked to his left with a "this guy is so crazy" look before looking down. Dean wasn't here. Which only reminded him as to why he was here and how badly he needed anyone who would help.

"Okay, anything I can do?" Sam looked over the wires and stuff, knowing Dean would have been more help in this situation.

"Get dry for one, but no, unless you're an expert in Timelord technology or have a degree in thermodynamics, I can't think of much except dusting." The Doctor murmured, while sorting out a pile of huge rubber things lying on the floor.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not much of a duster, but I think I could use this time to gather my stuff if I'm gonna be staying."

"Great idea, I could take you if you like!" The Doctor stood up, dropping the rubber things to the floor, and about to step past Sam when Sam stopped him.

"Nah, it's alright. I have something to take care of first." Sam smiled gently at The Doctor's concerned expression.

"Sure, then. Be careful, Sam." The Doctor patted him on the back, moving away to inspect things.

Sam nodded, feeling purpose returning to his bones as he walked back up to the console. He could do this a step at a time and he would get Dean and Cas back.

"And no weapons!" The Doctor shouted behind him.

…..

The impala thrummed steadily beneath him, it had started surprisingly well once he'd managed to extract the metal gate from its front, and responded to Sam like an old friend. As he drove, he was tempted to play his own music for once but he could hear Dean in his head moaning about his poor taste, and much like a child would cuddle with their parent's favourite jacket, Sam now fiddled with Dean's tapes, popping _Aerosmith_ in and turning the volume up.

_Dream On_ started playing and Sam tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the tune as he drove down the long road away from Sucrocorp.

He was the only one left of their team. Bobby was finally at peace, Meg had been taken by Crowley and Dean and Castiel were trapped in Purgatory.

But he had a job to do this time, the leviathans were still at large and he was going to get Dean and Cas back. He had a lot of work to do.

And he had a new team member, a Timelord. An alien! - which he couldn't wait to explain to Dean, his expression would be a gift. And he has a time machine so not a useless alien either, and though the Doctor said he wouldn't go back in time, he was still willing to find Purgatory and save Sam's family.

Which meant Sam would have more time to deal with the Leviathans, instead of just letting someone be promoted to be the new Dick.

He just had to find a more permanent way of killing them.

Sam inhaled deeply, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter as he struggled to breathe, his chest constricting as all his muscles tensed. He felt a wash of remembered fear and confused anguish and loss all at once. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to push it back but his throat was clogging up as he remembered the last time Dean had been taken. There had been nothing he could do, there had been no purpose except killing and trying to find him anyway, he had been reduced to an animal.

He pulled the impala to a stop, swinging open the door and smashing his fist against the roof. The pain resonated through his arm and there was a slight dent to match the others but it only reminded him that Dean wasn't here to threaten him for hurting his baby nor Cas to miraculously put her back together. No Bobby to wallop him round the head and tell him to get moving.

He was alone. Again.

He slid to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees and just resting his head. He felt like a small kid again, the world was too big, too pushy, not letting him have what he wanted. But this time he didn't care about being normal or going to university, he just wanted to have his family without the world on the edge of destruction. Just once.

He sat like that for a long time, practicing breathing and trying not to think too hard and eventually he got up, back into the impala and he was driving again.

…..

Sam drove round the back of Bobby's safe house, the one they had been using most currently. He just needed to collect the latest research they had pulled up on the leviathans and any other books that could help. The Doctor's library had been extensive but not on the type of thing Sam needed. Plus he didn't have any cleaning fluids.

He parked the impala, leaving the engine running for an easy getaway and made his way to the house. It was weird returning on his own but he didn't ponder this for long, just focusing on the task at hand. It was dark out but it didn't take a second to shove the key in and turn the handle, darting into the house and closing the door behind him.

"Hey, Sam. Where you been?" Sam froze out of instinct then turned and had to stop himself from trying to crush Crowley's skull.

"Trying to clear up your mess. What are you doing here? You have everything you wanted." Sam growled, not surprised to see Crowley reclining in Bobby's armchair and sipping at his best whiskey. Did he drink anything else?

"Actually I _had_ everything I wanted. Turns out I can't go a day before something else comes along and bites me in the arse. And like usual, it's your fault." Crowley leaned forward, eyes flashing, fingers curling into the armchair. Sam just couldn't get up the energy to care.

"Well, I'm busy, and you're not on my agenda at the moment. You sure it wasn't somebody else?" Sam turned; studying the rest of the place, making sure Crowley hadn't taken anything. The place was untouched as far as he could tell. He started taking books down from the stock Bobby had stored in every safehouse.

"It was Meg, because you and your brother are lousy blood caretakers." Crowley was suddenly in his face, still angry, but then sighed, looking at what Sam was picking up. He smirked.

"Well, you never stop thinking of the job, do you?" Sam rolled his eyes, placing the books on the floor.

"What did Meg do, Crowley?" Sam glared at him, just wishing Crowley to leave.

"Sold my blood and not to anyone. Knows what he's bloody doing, I want to wrap my hands round his scrawny neck so bad." Crowley lifted his hands, and large, metal handcuffs appeared.

"He binded you?" Sam eye's widened, his heart stuttering, the problem just got so much worse. He couldn't fight leviathans and the whole of Hell on his own. "How did this happen?"

"I told you, there is a lot of things you can do with my blood. This is a pretty obvious one. And one I do not like at all. But there is a way to break every spell, Sam." Crowley raised his conspiring eyebrows, and the handcuffs disappeared.

"Who the hell is it?" Sam exclaimed, feeling like he wanted to back in the TARDIS, he'd been able to forget just how bad his situation was with The Doctor and his timeless machine.

"Can't tell you that. The guy's not stupid. Made rules, lots and lots of them. Thorough, he is, unlike some people I know." Crowley glared, taking another long gulp of the golden liquid.

"Nothing?" Sam exhaled, weren't there any other hunters to deal with this stuff?

"Nothing, except he has friends in some despicable positions." Crowley smiled, as if to say _it just gets better._

"Leviathans too?" Sam needed to sit down, instead he tilted his head upwards, taking a deep breath then took another book. One thing at a time.

"And he let you come here to tell me this?" Sam clenched his hand around the book; frustration building and making him want to hit something.

"Not exactly. He ordered me to kill you, and while under normal circumstances, it would be my pleasure you're my only hope right now," Sam raised an eyebrow, "and I'm yours."

"But you can't just disobey an order, right?" Sam frowned, bringing out the demon knife.

"No, but fortunately for you there are 6 other Sam Winchesters relatively close by."

"What? No way! You can't just go killing innocent-"

"Yes, I can! And I will do a lot worse if I have to. I am the King of Hell, Sam, and my power is under someone else's control. I suggest you do something about it." Crowley smashed Sam against the wall with his fist, his eyes blazing, losing his normally cool manner for a second.

Sam wheezed, struggling to breathe as Crowley dug his fist into his throat. Crowley slowly let him go, putting his glass on the small coffee table. Sam stood uneasily, grabbing hold of a chair, his whole body ached.

"Can't you tell me anything? How to break your spell? An actual way to kill leviathans? His plan? A rescue guide for Dean? I need anything I can get right now." Sam winced, eyeing Crowley. His demon knife was on the floor, the little good it had done him.

"I wish I could help but like I said there are rules, Sammy-boy. So while I go back to my new boss to say you're all cold and not breathing, I expect you to be brushing off the books real good. Maybe it's time to make some new friends." Crowley shrugged, and then was gone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"John, wake up." A horribly loud and irritating sound scratched at John's eardrums making him wince and scrunch his eyes tighter.

"John." It continued and John wished to throw something at it but that also seemed like a lot of effort so he drew a breath and tried to speak, which felt harder than usual.

"Shuddup." He grated and the sound of his voice made his head pound and he moaned, curling tightly into a ball.

"I made you a cup of tea." John instinctively felt warmer at the mention of tea; reflexively he opened his eyes and came face to face with a hotel mug, smelling of brewing gold.

He took it, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously who just smiled, which was even more suspicious.

"Good. Drink your tea and then we're leaving." Sherlock stood up from his position leaning against John's bed, shutting his laptop and looking raring to go. Not at all how John felt.

John forced himself to sit up and sipped the tea, not yet having the energy to argue. The tea felt good down his throat, soothing his sore body and slowly stopping the pounding in his head.

Sherlock appraised John for a second as if considering and then said, "you should get changed too."

John looked down and instantly made out his apparent nakedness.

"What? Sherlock!" He screamed, pulling the duvet around him and growing ever the redder. Sherlock was already gone though, which was fortunate for him, John was having one of his bad days.

…..

John, now dressed and slightly less in the mood to kill Sherlock though that feeling never completely left him, was now sitting in their rental car, driving because Sherlock had never bothered to learn.

"How are we even going to get in?" John asked, taking the road the sign pointed to as _Sucrocorp. _

"Mycroft was the one who sent us, he was more than willing to give us his authority to go wherever we like." Sherlock said, looking out at the road distastefully as if already mourning the absence of London.

"This isn't England anymore, how do you know that they'll accept his authority?" John was worried, Sherlock had told him what they'd discovered last night and it still freaked him out that he couldn't remember anything at all. Apparently this drug was definitely in the junk food and Sherlock had narrowed it to a few ingredients and finally deducted the fructose corn syrup to be the culprit when he'd looked up some old articles where there had been worries that it increased weight gain and contained neurotoxins years ago, pretty much fitting Sherlock's diagnosis.

"Maybe we won't have to show them." Sherlock was looking more intrigued as they moved closer to _Sucrocorp_ and it was weird. It was absolutely quiet. There were barely any cars, an unnatural quiet that was settled over the road.

By the time they could see the building, John was itching for his gun, this was not right.

"Stop here." Sherlock said, and they slowed to a stop at a byway just before the bend into the checkpoint. They jumped out the car, John shutting the door quietly and Sherlock slamming it and running forward. John winced.

"Sherlock, slow down!" He hissed, scurrying after him.

"Do you see that, John?" Sherlock was perched behind bushes and pointing to a parking lot in front of the building. It looked slightly attacked; the car park's barrier looked as if it had been smashed through, there was a load of glass surrounding a gate/barrier thing. The actual gate had been crushed, and was now hanging precariously to the side. Not what they'd been expecting, to be brief.

"Yeah, a raid?" John suggested, really wishing he hadn't left his gun at Baker street.

"Not that, though yes, look at the building. It looks empty, I don't see any movement. In a place like this it should be bustling with activity, there should be police, crime scene tape, instead it's just quiet." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and John's stomach sank. Sherlock was right, and there were obviously people here, there were still cars in the car park. So, what was going on?

"Should I call the police?" John asked, still watching the windows, waiting to see someone do something.

"Not yet. Let's find a back entrance." Sherlock grinned, starting to look more himself; John found himself smiling before he could stop himself.

They scurried round, keeping the building in sight but taking a very round-about route to where a backdoor would hopefully be. They had to scurry very obviously behind bushes as there weren't many places to hide and John felt really exposed but whatever was happening ignored them.

Finally they came across a fire exit at the side of the building that had been left open, John looked at Sherlock but Sherlock was already strolling inside and John didn't want to stay out here any longer. He caught up, leaving the door open so they had one clear exit, and then suddenly his feet were sliding on pristine, white floors and he was surrounded by desks. Sherlock was looking at one of them when John came to a stop.

"What is it?" John said, really not liking how empty the place felt, deserted.

"Someone was forcibly removed from this chair, the seat is deeply set, the wheels on the bottom have scratched the floor. They tried to grab at the desk but were yanked away, and the edge of the desk cut them." Sherlock rubbed his fingers along the side of the desk, and John had to force down the reaction to appraise him, instead he moved past and went to the door, looking out. So there was a raid, people are being held hostage? But there are no police, the kidnappers would be monitoring outside, there'd be no way they'd be able to get in, let alone through an open fire exit. John struggled, trying to think. Mass-murderers? But this is a huge job, they wouldn't bother taking people away, they'd just kill them surely. Robbers?

In the corridor there was more emptiness but he thought he heard something.

"That sounds like…" John frowned, the thought niggling at the back of his head but he brushed it off, it couldn't be right.

"Come on, John. Stop standing around." Sherlock brushed past him, taking an immediate left as if he knew exactly where he was going. John followed, watching on all sides for both of them as Sherlock didn't seem to care about self-preservation.

The corridor looked so normal, as if they were just absurdly early and nobody was in yet but Sherlock would mutter every now and then as if seeing something John couldn't.

Sherlock suddenly turned, finger to his mouth.

"Shh." John nodded, fighting the urge to roll his eyes; he really didn't need the verbal confirmation to understand the gesture.

Slowly, Sherlock edged closer to the edge of a large glass window, and John was hearing that sound again and it was so loud and he couldn't ignore that thought this time. So when Sherlock peered round and went still, John was pretty sure he knew what he was seeing.

Sherlock glanced back and for the first time in all the time John had known him, Sherlock looked scared. John steeled himself, moving past Sherlock and taking a look himself.

What he saw made him want to throw up.

Ten people were tied up and gagged in the corner of an elite meeting room; another 8 were currently being swallowed. By other people, with large mouths coming out of their heads.

John whipped back, his heart pumping too fast and loud. He grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him away, running down the corridor and closer to their exit.

Finally he felt far away enough to speak.

"What the hell?"

Sherlock was shaking his head; he looked like he was in denial but John knew if he gave him another second, he'd adjust.

"Genetically enhanced people? A virus? I have no idea what this is." Sherlock flailed for a second, holding John's shoulders tighter than was comfortable.

"Or just monsters that are eating people. I'm calling the police." John got out his phone while Sherlock backed off, looking back the way they came.

"What is your emergency?"

"People are being killed, we're at Sucro-" John rapidly began to speak until he saw Sherlock's face.

"Put that down." John's shoulders sank, wasn't it just yesterday they had been with this guy? Steadily, John lowered the phone to the floor, careful not to disconnect the call; maybe the police would trace it.

"Sherlock, kick it over." John took that moment to turn around; Jim was standing in his usual Westwood suit, looking cockier than normal but still the same Moriarty. He wasn't holding a gun, there were no red dots yet he looked like he thought himself invincible and he was here with the People-Eating Monsters.

"Why should I?" Sherlock questioned, moving closer to the phone, leaning back. John could feel Sherlock's confidence beginning to fall off him again as he confronted something he knew.

"Or you'll get ripped to shreds, dear friend." Moriarty grinned and John's skin crawled as he felt breath on his leg, a growl resonated right next to him yet when he looked there was nothing.

Sherlock looked at John, and it was like that night all over again, except so much weirder.

Sherlock grimaced, kicking the phone over to Mori. "What is happening?"

"My plan." Moriarty picked up the phone, smiling eagerly as he turned it off. Then he was walking towards them, John couldn't help but back away as he approached, invisible dogs be damned. Sherlock stood his ground, Moriarty grinned at him as he brushed past and then he whispered his final farewell.

"You'd better start running."

Sherlock looked stumped for a minute and then he was shouting for John and sprinting away, a supernatural roar biting at their heels.

John was practically leaping down the corridor, his legs not moving fast enough as he heard the floor being torn up behind him, and as he saw stairs heading down he was practically falling down them in order to keep going. He knew Sherlock was following, and he was scared, Sherlock was slower than him and if he was taken then he didn't –

A huge pair of doors ahead of him gave him an extra boost and he burst through them, Sherlock hitting them a second later but they weren't lockable. John cursed, and kept on running, though his heart hurt and he could barely breathe. They were going to die; they had no weapons, nowhere to go.

"The lab!" Sherlock shouted behind him and John just managed to skid to a turn and fling himself at a door, pull it open, let Sherlock in and shut it again, locking it just as a huge force smashed against it. He stumbled away from the door, watching as the hinges were being crumpled and the door started to pull away from the frame.

"Sherlock..." John started, trying to think of something to say. How Sherlock had changed his life, how he wasn't a machine but a brilliant person, how he had the best times of his life with him and that he was his best friend.

"Shut up, John. We're going to be fine." And John didn't expect anything less.

And even as the door caved in and the growls intensified and he felt something stalk closer, he still believed in Sherlock.

xxxxxxxx


	5. Sebastian

This is a bit off a split-off story, it is relevant don't worry, AND CONTAINS MOR/MOR.

I'm just giving Moriarty (and Sebastian) some back story since he just appears in Chapter 4. ENJOY!

xxxxxxxx

Leaning against the rail, Benedict watched the steady roll of the sea and inhaled its cool scent. He listened to the constant rumble of conversation that surrounded him, the deep laugh of colleagues, the high-pitched teasing between girls, the shouts of children as they ran past him. He smiled; they were so blissful and unaware.

Despite the events that were soon to transpire, he'd found the case had been similar wherever he'd gone. People kept living, he would briefly enter and leave their lives, and they'd go on. Not knowing what his presence meant. His skin had developed into a dark tan as he had made his way through Africa, Spain and France and now he was on his way to the British Isles, to meet his new boss.

Perhaps it was because of the time he'd spent with these idle, simple creatures but he felt happy, sensations as simple as smell and touch and sight now fulfilled him in ways he had never imagined possible before. A breeze lifted his long hair and he revelled in its fresh caress against his warm neck.

"Hey!" A cry alerted him back to himself and he twisted in time to see a hat flying in the air, about to fly off the ship and into the emerald sea. In a smooth motion he stepped forward and caught in one hand, bringing it under his control.

A young woman was staring at him in surprised awe, she blushed as he gazed at her. He pressed out the brim, about to speak.

"Thank you, that's my hat. That was amazing, your reflexes are amazing, you're..." The woman stopped herself, her cheeks reddening as she spluttered words, eyes wide.

"It's no problem. Here." Benedict placed the hat on her head, tipping it so he could still see her eyes.

They were brown and bright, and so very big.

"Thank you, again. Um, look, would you like to have a drink with me?" She was barely breathing, her words jumping over each other so they didn't have time to back out. Benedict grinned, chuckling, he was used to this, the way people seemed to forget how to function around him.

"Sure. I'd love to." He nodded, stepping away from the rail and into her personal space. She shivered and he felt the warmth of her flesh against his, the blood in her cheeks looked vibrant. Her hair was shiny and fashioned, her figure a curvy picture of health. She was going to be a wonderful snack.

….

"In America, they've already made large progress with foodstuffs, and though they are still refining the final product, they already have contracts with large corporations around the world ready to use it in their products. And what do we have?" A skinny man, with blonde curly hair, shouted at the board of employees. His eyes flicked menacingly to a short, moustached man who was carefully reading his notes.

"Dave, I said 'what do we have?'" Dave looked up abruptly at his name, gulping down his obvious fear, the same thought at the forefront of his mind as everyone else.

"Well, sir, we've been testing a new drug. It's been going pretty well, I think with a bit more time it could have no side effects unlike the version they made in America."

"What side effects are there now?" Tom leaned forward, into Dave's space. Dave tried not to retreat but Benedict could almost see the sweat starting to bead on his forehead. It made him glad he was only security, killing was instinct, but science was something they'd never had in Purgatory.

"Er, lack of movement, sir. They seem paralysed which would cause suspicion, I suppose and make loading and breeding a bit harder but with a few more trials this should be taken care of." Dave babbled, Tom's eyes glinted and Benedict could feel the hunger. Everybody was always hungry, they all wanted results.

"Just a bit longer!" Dave squealed and that was the last straw. Tom's mouth widened until it covered his whole face and a couple of seconds later, Dave was gone.

"Chris, take over. I want to see improvements by tomorrow." Tom said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. A tall, muscular guy nodded and was already leaving, taking a patrol of other scientists with him.

"Emma, I want to see more contracts by tomorrow. , TESCO, McVities, Hellmanns, Walkers." Tom listed them off, glaring at a red-headed woman who was writing them all down hurriedly.

"Benedict, a word. Everyone else get back to work." Tom clapped his hands at them all but the tension in the room had lowered slightly; hopefully Tom wouldn't be in the mood to eat anyone else for the rest of the day. Benedict walked forward stiffly from the back of the room, he had mostly been ignored since his arrival so this was unexpected.

"I hear you've done some research, mingled with the cattle and gained some insight. Anything come of it?" Tom was sitting down, leaning back into his chair, his face relaxed and temporarily satisfied.

Benedict nodded, he had gained so much from his experience. He had been waiting to be asked this ever since he arrived so he was ready.

"Yes, sir. I learnt a surprising amount. In Africa, a huge percentage of the population is malnourished and depends on 'subsistence farming' where they make their own food, and veganism is becoming a growing trend in the Mediterranean cultures. This means we cannot just rely on poisoning their processed food, but we need to get the drug into their systems another way. Also I experienced a different kind of hunting to how we were used to in Purgatory which I thought would also be a more exciting way of dealing with these humans. We can fence them in in a reserve, and hunt them down, they can't escape and we get a thrilling hunt out of it. This would probably be more appropriate for Africa and South America. I also became an expert in much weaponry as was requested." Benedict felt a rush of adrenaline as he remembered hunting; it had been like being back in Purgatory. Of chasing after his prey, knowing of the chance it could outmanoeuvre him or get in a shot of its own, but knowing deep down he was the master tracker and predator. And he had found it was even better using weapons, stalking through the grass, aiming using a sniper rifle, watching the shock and confusion play out before the person died. That ranger was still the best human he'd had so far.

"Ah, that is useful. We need to consider the groups of people who we can't target using _Sucrocorp _and _Lovely Jubbly_. Perhaps we can contaminate the water supply." Tom nodded, liking this idea.

"But what about the reserve idea?" Benedict pushed as far as he dare.

"That is not up to me but since you've done an adequate job I will ask Dick what he thinks of it. You may leave now, Benedict." Benedict nodded, walking towards the door, but before he could leave Tom spoke up.

"One last thing, you can put your weaponry skills to test. A 'Mr. Moriarty' has been researching our facility a little bit too much for my comfort, I wish for you to dispose of him in a way that looks realistic. Do your research first."

"Of course." Benedict bowed his head, leaving the room and already cherishing the look on Mr. Moriarty's face as he keeled to the floor. Living and healthy one second, dead the next. The power held in one gun but then again, maybe he wouldn't use a gun; there were so many ways to kill humans.

…..

James Moriarty got home at 11.14pm, removing his gloves and long overcoat onto the wooden coat-stand by the door. He was alone. Benedict thought it was a large house for someone who lived alone but soon it wouldn't matter.

He flung two cutlery knives, pleased when they stuck fast into Moriarty's shoes. They should have gone right through his toes. But there was no cry of pain, no collapsing to the floor in anguish.

James merely looked up to the top of the staircase, where Benedict was lurking in the dark.

"Who's there?" Benedict didn't answer. Moriarty's voice wasn't even trembling, not even slightly shocked.

"Neat trick, that." Moriarty smirked, pulling the knives from his shoes slowly. Benedict saw no trace of red. James grimaced at them, then back at the stairs.

"They're Timberland, you know, and you ruined them with cutlery." Moriarty rubbed the back of his head, as if he couldn't bear the thought of having to get new shoes.

"Get on your knees." Benedict growled, he had not been planning on this. He hadn't expected this at all.

"Or you'll shoot me? These are Westwood, you know." Moriarty stuck his hands in his pockets, calmly walking forward, no doubt trying to see him better.

"I will shoot." Benedict was already pointing his rifle at James's head.

"And when I get on my knees? Shoot me then too?" Benedict frowned; nobody normally thought to ask him what he was going to do to them. They were usually too busy crying.

"No. You were stabbed several times when you caught two burglars in your home." Benedict watched Moriarty carefully.

"They got past my security cameras and decrypted my burglar alarm?" Moriarty looked up, seemingly right up at him though he knew it was too dark to see.

"Cut off the electricity." Benedict smiled; enjoying this prey despite the lack of hunt.

"I'd put up a fight against burglars, why would I be on my knees?" Moriarty narrowed his eyes, Benedict started to doubt whether it really was dark enough. Not that he was wearing anything that could give him away.

"They caught you off-guard, whacked you round the head." To emphasize his point, Benedict lowered the rifle and picked up a china bowl.

"How are you going to do that?" Moriarty leered, backing away. Benedict fired the bowl at his head, it cracked satisfyingly against his skull and Moriarty fell to his knees, holding his bleeding forehead.

"Oh, nice. Using all of my fancy china, are we?" Moriarty mumbled, but remained where he was, bleeding on his cream carpet.

Benedict stood up, taking a dagger from his belt, and headed downstairs.

"You don't shut up, do you?" Benedict sneered, checking the other doors, making sure there weren't people lurking in corners but no, he'd disabled all the cameras. This was to be the end of James Moriarty.

"I always aim to be a good host." Moriarty chuckled weakly and then Benedict was lifting his head by his hair. Moriarty winced, eyes scrunched tight.

"Well, you can know you served me well in death." Benedict smiled, twirling the dagger. Where first? He wondered, burglars would want to be quick, would be panicking.

"They'd probably go for the shoulder or stomach first. They're inexperienced, worried." Moriarty suggested, blinking eyes at Benedict.

Benedict raised an eyebrow but agreed, he'd go for a quick stab in the shoulder first. He felt Moriarty tense beneath him then there was a fist in his face, hitting him squarely in the nose. He shook it off, grinning. Moriarty sniffed, and when Benedict looked down there was a handgun pressed into his chest.

"Feel like telling me why my death is so important?" Moriarty snarled, jabbing the gun in harder.

Benedict felt rage welling in him, the prey should never be allowed to surprise its predator. Not one such as him.

"No." Benedict whipped the gun away as if swatting a fly and then stabbed him in the shoulder, hard, feeling a release when Moriarty cried out, his whole body lifting and spasming in pain. As Benedict pulled the knife free, he slumped, more blood spilling on his carpet.

Moriarty wasn't able to speak this time, his breathing was shallow and obviously painful.

"I think I prefer it when you can't speak." Benedict said, about to go for the stomach this time when sirens were suddenly going off and the door was being kicked in. Benedict ran for the stairs but the police were already there, pointing guns.

"Stay where you are!" The policeman shouted, edging closer.

Benedict smiled, bringing his arm from behind, and spearing each man in the throat with a fork.

The forefront policeman dropped his gun, and collapsed on the ones behind. Benedict was gone by the time they looked up.

….

For the first time Benedict was unsure. He was lying on the roof of the building opposite the main hospital block, waiting. His finger on the trigger, ready for the slightest movement.

But nothing was happening, his thoughts drifted as an hour slipped by. He had failed his task, and Tom would not look kindly on his failures. He had to kill Moriarty before his failure turned into a disaster.

He could not return to Tom until Moriarty was dead, otherwise he might as well bib himself, but Moriarty was now in a hospital, protected by his own security and he had proven he wasn't going to be an easy target.

He eyed the brick building containing his prey. His original plan had been ruined. Moriarty would have told the police that someone had tried to kill him, to make it look like a break-in. But then Moriarty himself was a suspicious character, they would never suspect Benedict's boss – there was no obvious link – and Moriarty couldn't tell them his own thoughts for chance of them discovering his own illegal dealings.

And Moriarty didn't know who was trying to have him killed. There was something in this, Benedict mused, aiming his Norinco QBU-88 rifle through the window into James's room.

Moriarty was not stupid; the bed could not be seen. This was frustrating and he felt the urge to shoot the doctor who walked in at that moment. But that would do him no good. He was so hungry.

He popped the rifle down. He just had to find a way to kill this infuriating man.

Benedict shook his head, taking out a spoon he had stolen from Moriarty's home. He studied it, it seemed to be nothing special, like any other spoon but when he tried, he struggled to bend it. A flash of that calm, bemused face ran through his head and he cracked the spoon in half. He saw the knives impale his feet and the man moan about his shoes, how he seemed to see him in the dark. Was he a demon? Another monster? But he smelt like a human. He had been as weak as a human when he'd fought back. Yet when he'd stabbed him there hadn't been the usual stink of fear, the man had even suggested where he stab him. Benedict threw the broken spoon to the floor, and aimed the rifle again.

Various plans roamed his mind, most involving adopting a new form but the boss was against this unless it was an emergency. Rule #1 _**"We are not to draw attention to ourselves."**_ He had already gone over his time limit, breaking anymore rules would only get him bibbed. He would wait it out then, Moriarty would need the toilet, to move. And by his research, Benedict figured Moriarty didn't like to be around other people long which could work to his advantage. A criminal consultant.

What was he doing looking into a food industry – specifically _Lovely Jubbly: world's healthiest oils_? Benedict shrugged, was not part of his job to find out, just to kill.

…..

Moriarty didn't show himself all day. Benedict wondered if he had the right room but that was where he'd seen him go, if only his bodyguards hadn't got in the way he could have had this done hours ago.

Benedict found it harder to concentrate as the hours passed by, he needed to eat, he hadn't eaten since that young lady on the ferry. The thought made his mouth water.

Tracey Hollow had been her name; she had been going home to see family. She wanted to have drinks, but she was clumsy, she had dropped her glass and tried to tidy it up. Then she had cut her skin. Red had dropped onto the floor, she had looked up, her cheeks flaming. He had drawn her close, sucking in her smell, and then proceeded to delicately lead her to her room as if she would collapse without him. They always liked it when he did that, showed affection and handled them as if they were his. What they didn't know was that they were, just not in the way they hoped.

He'd kissed her, deep and long, and she'd kissed him back. Soon enough, clothes were a thing of the past and he'd had her draped over his chest instead. But the proximity of her nude skin, the smell of her sweet flesh drove him over the edge. And a second later he had a fist through her chest.

She'd blinked at him and then her eyes had faded into a distant blankness, a shuddering breath echoing around his arm. He had taken his time to enjoy her, leaving no trace of Tracey Hollow's existence once he'd finished licking his fingers.

Briefly, he wondered what Moriarty would taste like but despite his hunger, Moriarty was not his choice meal, too skinny, would probably taste bitter too.

Benedict put the rifle down, stretching his limbs, catching sight of a large, busty woman hobbling to her car. He looked back to Moriarty's room; it had been still except for the occasional movement of a bodyguard and the visit of nurses.

But no, this wasn't just his job, this was who he was. He didn't leave, besides it would violate Rule #1 too. He was about to pick the rifle back up when a black van that had been parked here all day started to move, he frowned.

His gut instinct told him that the only black van in a hospital car-park would be the one waiting for someone like Moriarty. But surely, he hadn't snuck out when Benedict was watching, unless there was another door in the room or when he'd stopped looking for one second. Benedict scowled; of course, it could be a lure away too.

He did not like it when his food was clever.

He aimed his gun, and fired. A quick jerk and the bullet was lodged in the wheel, the van sank and skidded to the left, still trying to drive. Benedict smirked, putting another bullet in the back wheel. The van came to a stop, drooping, a blue mini beeped at it from behind. After a few seconds, a woman got out, her face puzzled but impatient.

She knocked on the blacked out windows, Benedict immediately considered her a fool. But whatever she was, she sped things along. A brawny guy jumped out, definitely not James or one of his bodyguards. Benedict scowled, looking back to the window, just as a bullet shot past his ear. In an instant he was down and jumping onto the adjacent tree. He pulled his rifle with him and pushed as many branches over him for cover as possible, while still trying to see.

Another man had gotten out of the van, aiming a long range handgun at his wall, and the woman had ran back to her car, reversing rapidly backwards and away, other people were following her cue. Well, if Moriarty had needed a distraction he had it.

Benedict taped his rifle to the tree, it would not do to be seen with it anywhere near here, and swung his way down the tree, dropping lithely to his feet. Moriarty would be in one of those vehicles and it was most likely those van men were his people.

He was prepared to go and beat his anger into someone when he saw a swarm of police cars driving past. He paused; they weren't heading for him, but that many police cars weren't just for an accident. He frowned, and just after Moriarty presumably made his getaway?

He had nothing to go on, Moriarty could be anywhere now. So, he jogged down to his cheap Ford and began to follow the police.

…

"Stay away! It's dangerous around here!" A policeman shouted at him as he walked closer but he didn't need to go any further. The block of flats in front of him was smoking, blackened at one floor by an explosion. There were already several black body bags littering the street.

He immediately started back to his car, Moriarty was a crime consultant. He didn't like to be exposed, blowing an inhabited building up didn't seem like him unless this was part of something else.

He slid into the old fiesta, grabbing his laptop from the passenger seat. He flipped it open, taking a solid minute to find the 'on' button. The screen lit up and did a sing-song tune, really loudly. He winced, putting it back while it started up, all happy colours and swirling motions.

He took out a sausage roll instead, designed by his boss; it contained the remains of the people from the nearby hospital. Co-incidentally, the hospital their surgeons worked in.

It didn't taste great but it took the edge off his hunger. It was gone before he even tasted it. He sighed, he was so hungry. Perhaps after he had done this, he would be rewarded with a feast. If he was gone long enough, they may have even finished the serum.

He grins at that, then no more hunger ever again.

"Let's see what Mori's up to then." Benedict plopped the slim-line laptop on his lap again, going straight to the inter-net. It went to a site called Google, what he deemed as a miracle when nobody was around. Humans may generally just be clueless idiots with really tasty flesh but some of the things they had made were beyond him.

He clicked on UK News and scrolled down, instantly finding an article that had 'Consulting Criminal' all over it. Before yesterday he would have been lost about what to look for but after his research, a quick chat with a contact saying he wished to divert a special package, and he'd been given on to a load of other contacts before eventually a cargo ship captain was on the line, talking in a computer-enhanced voice about his new destination. He'd hung up. Moriarty's network was vast, there seemed to be little he couldn't do. So an article about a TV presenter's death due to tetanus in her Botox injections seemed pretty much in his street, in fact he was starting to wonder if any death could really be considered natural with a guy like Moriarty in the world. He read it:

_It was previously thought that Connie Prince died due to tetanus after cutting herself on the hand with a rusty nail however through further research; Scotland Yard has confirmed that Raoul de Santos, her brother's manservant, committed the murder by increasing the dosage of her Botox injections._

He narrowed his eyes, Scotland Yard. Why would they bother putting that much attention into an unsuspicious death? What was Moriarty doing?

He clicked 'return' and kept scrolling. The next one he came across had been buried, he almost missed it.

**Janus Cars - an agency that arranges people to disappear. **He double-clicked.

_Ian Monkford, previously suspected dead, is now thought to be in Columbia after Scotland Yard discovered Janus Cars had arranged his "death". Due to financial issues, Ian –_

Benedict smirked, that was definitely something Moriarty would be behind. It just didn't make sense why it was being uncovered; James didn't strike him as someone to leave prints behind.

He returned, and looking back at the smoking building tried a different tactic.

**Recent explosions in London**

Despite the vague wording, sites instantly turned up including:

**BBC NEWS | Special Reports | london explosions**

He explored the site, finding a 'gas leak rupture' on Baker Street, damaging many properties including 221B, the owner Sherlock Holmes was inside at the time but unharmed.

**Sherlock Holmes**

**The Science of Deduction** came up and the first words on the page were:

_I'm Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective._

And Benedict didn't need to know anymore. It was a game. Moriarty was playing a game with a Sherlock Holmes.

He grinned, finally. He had him again.

….

221B Baker Street was next to a Speedy's Sandwich Bar and Café, it was a white house with a black door and that was all that Benedict could see.

There were no cars outside, and living in the city of London most likely meant Sherlock Holmes didn't use one. This had meant improvisation on Benedict's part, so now he was sitting in a black cab. He'd taken it from a Pakistani; he'd looked old and lonely, probably keeping it as a job even after retirement as his pension couldn't last him. In fact, that was exactly the case.

Benedict squirmed, trying to get used to his new skin. He already missed his old body but a job was a job and if that meant a new skin then he'd do what he had to, and time was running out, one body wouldn't hurt.

He'd just watched a short, blonde man walk out the apartment, while he'd been innocently reading today's news, and past him, but his objective was tall, brunette and skinny. Not too different from Moriarty really.

At that thought, the black door opened and a man sprang outwards. He looked tall, perhaps it was the trenchcoat though, and he had brunette curls that bounced as he fell to a stop and waved at the cab as if it were there only to serve him. Benedict dropped the newspaper to the side, quickly working the gears so he was in front of Sherlock.

"Where to?" He asked in a London accent. Sharp cheekbones, pale face, quick eyes. Yep, this was the one.

"Cally Swimming Pool, Islington." Sherlock stated, sitting in the backseat.

"Sure thing." Benedict's new brain immediately had the location nailed, the quickest route calculated and how much money he would make. He started up, barely having to look at the steering wheel anymore. It was strange considering he could barely drive his Ford safely an hour ago.

He watched Sherlock, he seemed anxious but excited, like he was full of energy that he was keeping scarcely contained. He kept staring out the window, a big smirk on his face. Benedict presumed he thought he'd won the game.

For some reason, this annoyed him. He kept it to himself though, he wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to be killing Moriarty, not thinking about his stupid game.

His new brain discouraged him, shunning staring at customers, especially Sherlock, and instead to concentrate on the road. This sparked Benedict's intrigue, he rummaged through the messy desk that was the cabbie's mind and scavenged through the scrawled, handwritten notes.

Sherlock was a master at his trade, anti-social, and had never travelled with others before the arrival of his room-mate. He didn't like talking unless it was for a point; something the cabbie had hastily learned when Sherlock had practically attacked him with curt, short answers when he'd tried to be friendly. Now, the cabbie shared a somewhat relationship with the man, staying around the area, able to pick him up if he needed and giving him the quiet, quick journeys he wanted in exchange for notes that Sherlock didn't look at before giving them over which usually meant they were a lot more than he asked for. This made him slightly resent his room-mate who guarded their money more than Sherlock.

He speeded up a one way street, doing an absurd speed, Sherlock didn't look bothered. Benedict pushed himself, loving the way he could expertly squeeze between the cars littering the road, this man should have been a drag racer.

They were getting closer to their destination now, the roads were smaller, the cars more numerous. He just kept thinking how close he was to finishing the job, and that he wouldn't be able to finish it the way it deserved to end. It was almost disappointing.

Benedict had to slow up a tad as he drove between a lorry and land rover. He pulled to a soft stop outside a flat, grey building. It didn't strike him as popular.

"Thanks. Wait here for me." Sherlock handed him a fifty though the meter only said £8.65 and dropped out, heading round the building to the door. Benedict watched him open it and disappear.

Time to finish the game.

….

It was the quietest fight ever witnessed*. It was fought ninja-style, chopping hands and feet, rapid punches to the stomach and throat and practically flying over each other as they dodged and weaved. There wasn't even any need for it, Benedict had no need to expend any energy but that didn't mean he didn't want to. He was a killer, a professional, and he liked to earn his status.

Despite his weak exterior, he had the strength and tolerance of a Leviathan, the first monster, something so powerful God, himself, locked it up. He revelled in this knowledge.

(*witnesses include Jerry the spider who took permanent residence in a small crack in the ceiling and the snipers doing the fighting. Anything else had had the senses to leave quickly, covering their eyes.)

He landed lightly on the floor, confident the fight was coming to a close. He turned and then he was stumbling backwards as if something had collided with him, his head rang, he felt uneasy. He looked down, taking steadying breaths. Black blood oozed from his heart, he frowned, catching the bullet as it was spat back out.

Looking back up, his prey wasn't finished; he shot again just as Benedict was throwing the bullet, it lodged straight in the throat of the sniper. He even choked soundlessly, Benedict had to applaud that. He took the brief moment of calm to hold his head, confused by the sudden onslaught of pain, but he couldn't wait any longer.

He stood up, hearing the clink as the other bullet fell from his forehead. He pondered this latest body, it was tall and flexible, he removed his mask, revealing blonde hair and a hard, lean face. It was muscled and if he had been human he would have said dangerous.

This body was flawlessly designed, it was meant for him, and Benedict saw it as the perfect reward for getting so far. Benedict grabbed his wrist, his body shifted, taking on its new form. He grimaced; it hadn't felt as easy as it usually did. He shook off the feeling, shoving Sebastian's body away. Sebastian, he tasted it. It was even better than Benedict.

He lay on the floor and eyed his target.

It was the short, blonde man he'd seen leave Sherlock's apartment. John Watson. His mind unravelled with information that he pushed back, he had to concentrate.

"People have died." Sherlock said, deadpan.

"That's what people DO." Moriarty shouted back, surprising Sebastian with his show of fury. It wasn't expected of someone who mocked his killer, it sounded like real raw emotion. This sparked something in his new memories, a flurry of motion that turned into a hurricane. He had to close his eyes to stop it overwhelming him, Moriarty biting his lip, shouting at him to obey orders desperately, refusing to give him his Polaroid camera back, sneaking a kiss when he was sleeping. Simple actions that had this body humming and sighing like a contented dog.

Sebastian shook his head, sneaking a glance at the body, something wasn't right. The memory trace never usually affected him physically, he was a Leviathan, much stronger than any pathetic thoughts of a human.

The memories subsided, playing in the background of his head, seemingly warming his chest. He focused back on the scene, he seemed to have missed something, Moriarty was talking.

"Huh? Oh. That. Missile plan." Moriarty kissed something in his hand as he took it from Sherlock then smiled, lifting his eyes to Sherlock's. Sherlock's gun was just centimetres from his face. Again, Sebastian couldn't smell even the barest hint of fear.

"Boring. I could've got them anywhere." Moriarty pulled a shocked face, throwing the missile plans into the water. In that moment John leapt on him, grabbing him so he couldn't escape. Sebastian frowned, the images got louder.

"Good! Very good." Moriarty crowed, Sebastian found his heart rate picking up, that Moriarty's nonchalant attitude relied on him so his next move determined Moriarty's fate. He should just shoot. Kill them all.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, we both go up." John hissed. He was right, it would be so easy. They'd all die, not even dental records could help the police. Yet he remained still, his finger not taking the final push. He was thinking about it, knowing all the logic but his body wouldn't move.

His heart felt like it was in his throat, images burning brightly in his eyes. He saw Moriarty taking him in, a soldier that had been left to rot in the street, and giving him new purpose. He watched as Sebastian had taken his job to new levels, become better and quicker than any other employee, his loyalty outshining any other. He had lived for Moriarty. He'd taken to falling asleep in Moriarty's presence, exhausted from working so long, and through that, coming to live with him.

They'd trusted each other completely without words to ever confirm it. Unlike others, they weren't scared of each other and it was something they both found fascinating, testing each other's limits daily. It felt so real, Sebastian couldn't turn it off.

Sebastian had a whole photo album just of random pictures of Jim, him sleeping, making tea, a picture of his bare back, Jim had tried more than once to dispose of his Polaroid camera and the photos but he never succeeded. In turn Moriarty annoyed him in the mornings with loud; awful modern music from his stereo usually accompanied by the retch-inducing smell of some meal or other, always keen to see how far Sebastian would follow an order. And Sebastian always surprised him, played along with his games and surpassed them. Earning him an almost equal status, of being able to backchat his boss, challenging Mori in ways others would never dare.

Sebastian sucked in a breath, trying to escape it, to concentrate enough to pull the trigger but he couldn't. His eyes were centred on Moriarty's head, the hair only he was allowed to fiddle with and even then to the infuriation of Jim, and the suit that Mori had asked his opinion on before they left. Sebastian found himself listening to his words as carefully as if it were his own boss.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around, but then people do get so sentimental about their pets. So touchingly loyal." This was his cue, shoot or don't. Without thinking he was moving the dot to rest against Sherlock's pale skin; he found his own skin was lined with sweat as if he had been fighting off a disease. He was breathing hard.

The conversation carried on but he couldn't process the words, he felt tired and bewildered, this wasn't supposed to happen. He had control, this was _his_ vessel. But these memories that flooded him whenever he saw this human weren't normal, they were so powerful, so fixed and deep in an unnatural way that he doubted the human they had belonged to had had a sane mind. He had had one purpose. And so he couldn't kill it. This was a human who was a professional in being detached, of stopping himself relating the meat-suit to an actual person before he shot them in the head, and so when he had fallen, he hadn't just fallen he had dived from a high-speed plane, smashing into a million shards and then put back together again with only one thing to hold them together.

A ' '

…

Sebastian was driving a blue Honda, it wasn't his, just taken from the street by the swimming pool. But he had to get away, he hadn't been able to complete the job, he had to get a new vessel, something was wrong with this one. Even as he drove through the lane, he could see how Sebastian had arrived but he didn't want to, he wasn't supposed to.

He'd grab a homeless person, no-one would miss them, and he'd go back. Try again.

He breathed hard, imagining Tom's hands placing the bib on him, watching quietly and expectantly as he put his hand in his mouth and started to eat himself.

No. That wasn't how it was going to go. He'd run if he had to, fly, drive, or swim, anything but that.

He took a sharp turn, trying to fight down all his emotions. He'd never experienced them this intensely before, what was happening? What was going on?

There was no-one to go to though, he'd just be eaten for complaining too much. He drove through a tunnel, catching site of a bearded man in weathered clothes. He stopped abruptly, jumping out the car, and rushing over. The quicker it was done, the better.

Before the guy could protest, Sebastian pushed him against the wall with bone crushing strength and waited for his transformation to occur. Slowly he felt the presence of it crawl over his skin, but it got to his forearms and stopped, withdrew and retreated back.

"…what?" Sebastian hissed, smashing his fist beside the terrified man, he could smell the disgusting stench of his piss. Why wasn't it working?

He threw the man to the side, storming back to his car. It couldn't be the vessel, he'd taken a good number through his short time on this planet and it had always been the same. They were just meat-suits, used so they didn't scare the natives. They had no control; there was just a trace of what once had been, nothing else. Nothing like what was raging through him now. It felt like what he imagined as an infection.

He started driving again, tried to envisage killing Moriarty but the image caused his stomach to churn and his mind told him it wasn't logical. When it was, it was the only logical thing to do. But that was where his money came from; it offered an exciting, good living. He enjoyed it.

Sebastian gulped, he'd have to run. If the boss saw how limited and frayed he was, he'd only serve as a use on a dinner plate.

He speeded the Honda up. Africa was cool; he'd go back to Africa.

….

Airport food was crappy. Sebastian could say that much so far, this was his first time flying but not. Sebastian also had memories of flying far and wide to places like Russia and Sweden and little countries to the Far East. No matter where he went though, airport food was always crappy.

He still couldn't believe he'd been forced to this, he'd been through it in his head and he'd come to two conclusions. 1. Turns out if a Leviathan is shot in the heart he totally weakens considerably.

2. Something much larger than that had happened. As in to 'The Head'.

He was a lot more confident about this second idea, which meant that he should get to America as quickly as possible, a new Head would be needed or they'd be weakened indefinitely. With 'The Head' gone or in Purgatory or whatever had happened to him, they were less substantial. They weren't made to stay on Earth, this was not their plane of existence, Purgatory was. They were weaker here unless something pulled them together, the best of them all. And he was determined to be that Leviathan, he was sick of being a minor. He could pull them through this and up to better, greater heights. He took another bite of his burger, swallowing down the warm, chewy flesh. It really wasn't appealing.

"What are you thinking about, sweetpea?" Sebastian grew cold, he felt even his memories coil and bear their fangs slightly. This guy may have been his boss, but he was also annoying. There was nowhere he could go.

He turned to see Moriarty lounging in the chair behind him, sipping at a tea. Moriarty raised an eyebrow.

"Hm? You left rather abruptly earlier, and took someone else's property, poor pet, bet they're worried. And then you go and buy a ticket to America, without me?" Jim whined, looking falsely hurt.

"Are we breaking up, buttercup?" Moriarty leaned closer, blinking anxiously.

"Stop with the names. I have other work, you know." Sebastian leaned away, hating the fact he couldn't carry any good weapons through security.

"Like what, honey-pie?" Moriarty frowned, taking another sip of tea.

"Like none of your business. Clients pay good money for privacy." Sebastian growled, what the hell was Mori doing here? He was getting in the way, again. He'd let him live, that was enough. Why was he being tested?

"I provide you with your clients; you weren't interested in anything in America." Mori smiled sweetly, taking a chip.

"I am now. Aren't I allowed to do anything by myself? I promise not to get hurt." Sebastian smiled back, he looked at his watch. His gate would be opening soon. He swallowed the last bit of burger.

"Oh, but what if you did? Good help is so hard to come by these days, sweetie." It wasn't obvious, but his tone was harder, his shoulders more tense. Sebastian felt he was wading in dangerous waters.

"Just give me a week. I'll be back. Just one week." Sebastian softened his tone, lifting himself to stand up. And falling back down. He frowned, Mori hadn't done anything, was just watching.

"What? James?" He growled, feeling his body going numb. His vision was whiting out.

"Don't call me James. I'll see you in the morning, teddy bear." Sebastian tried to bark a retort but his words faded out and he was lost.

…

"Carl Powers called me James." A voice murmured over the distinct hum of a plane's engine. Sebastian kept his breathing even, tried to keep up the illusion of sleep even as he dreamt of the different ways he could make Moriarty pay for messing with him.

He could tell he was facing away from Moriarty, his head and body turned awkwardly. There was a crick in his neck and his shoulder was stiff, which was a feeling he'd never experienced before. It was uncomfortable, he fluttered his eyelids just enough to see down into his lap, two gleaming rings of metal encircled his wrists snugly, preventing much movement.

Moriarty had handcuffed him.

"And then he drank some poison and a pool, and nobody called it me again. Funny that." Jim hummed, Sebastian imagined strangling him with his handcuffs but at a second glance he saw they were secured to the seat. Mori really didn't want him leaving.

"Breathings changed, though you're trying to hide it," Moriarty announced in a conversational tone, his former exasperation and fury gone completely. "I was told the drug would last the entire flight. Another starling for your scope, darling."

"Why..?" Sebastian sighed, rolling the word off his heavy tongue, straightening up and staring right ahead. He wouldn't give _James_ the satisfaction of his full attention. Instead he analysed his whereabouts. The plane was large, and empty except for them, there were two rows of seats and a small table to his left with a stack of cigars resting in a pyramid heap. Or as Sebastian saw it: They were thousands of feet in the air; there were no sharp items nearby, and no witnesses. "Why couldn't you just leave me?"

"You work for me." Moriarty flicked out his phone, "did you know-"

"No, damn it!" Sebastian turned to face him with a snarl, his brows low over his eyes and his shoulders tense, straining against the handcuffs. "This isn't a game, Moriarty! I have to go to America, I have to do other things!"

Finally, that smile of smugness and spark of frivolous light was wiped clean from Jim's face. Something horrible and dark took its place, worthy of a Purgatory native, and Jim leaned slightly forward, his eyes saucers and his lips a straight line.

"It is what I say it is, Sebastian Moran," he said, every syllable cutting. "The pieces are in motion; the game is in play and you…"

Here he brought his face very close to the marksman's.

"You, sparrow, are mine," he murmured.

Sebastian stiffened, his icy eyes narrowing, and Moriarty smiled at him a smile that was unlike anything he'd seen on a human. Sebastian felt himself understanding the emotions that were rushing through him at that look.

"We are going to America, just like you wanted, together." Moriarty shut his phone, shifting in his seat as if to ponder him. Sebastian didn't look away.

"I have two days, pebbles. Two days till the end." Moriarty almost sounded sombre at that. Sebastian shook his head, not understanding.

"Till the end of what?" He searched Sebastian's memory but Moriarty had never told him anything like this.

"Of me. Of everything I've made and become, maybe of you too." Moriarty smiled, as if this thought endeared him.

"What did you do, Moriarty?" Sebastian snarled, knowing Mori, he could be talking about the end of the world and how he accidentally sent plans to press a big, red button.

"9 years and 354 days ago, I made a deal with a time limit. A time limit of ten years, cherry." Mori smiled, showing teeth.

"What did you get?" A demon deal, well, now everything made a bit more sense. Though Mori had struck him more of a demon than of a client of one.

"Lots and lots of contacts, an empire of them. With one phone call, I could do anything. My own army of demons at my disposal, in a way." Mori eyed him at that, probably waiting for the sarcastic laugh at the mention of demons.

"Shut up." Which surprised even Moriarty. Enough to send his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. He drew back and cocked his head to the side, and Sebastian leaned against the chair with a snort.

"So for two more days, you have an army of demons at your disposal. This is brilliant. Perfect." Ideas swirled around Sebastian's head; if someone had killed the big, bad boss then he'd just been presented his chance to make the post his own. He looked down the handcuffs, they really were annoying.

"Yes, except they have their limits. While my soul is regarded highly, they weren't just giving me free control. You don't seem shocked, Sebby. Are you not telling me something?" Moriarty said pleasantly, and like a live wire Sebastian felt the hair along his arms stand straight up. He turned his head to look at the criminal, blue eyes cold. Jim tilted his head to one side with an unnatural tip, his dark eyes reflecting the ghostly light from above.

"It was either this or you were one, boss." Sebastian let the response leave him naturally, it came to his mind like a reaction and though he knew he hadn't thought of it, if it worked it was worth it.

"You don't dance with the devil without being dragged to hell, Sebby." It was a warning, a dare and a challenge. And none of them had ever stopped Sebastian before.

"Unless you can trip him up." Sebastian sneered, and raised his hands, spreading his wrists from one another and displaying the dismantled handcuffs.

"Hm," Moriarty eyes were half hooded and his elbows were propped up on the armrest. "You're even sexier than before."

"Just a quick learner," Sebastian grunted, standing up and turning to face Jim, there was only one way to kill 'The Head' and that involved a certain few bloods including one Moriarty would be very interested in, and could work very much in his favour too if he worked it well.

"Do you know of The Winchesters?" Sebastian leaned against the seat behind him, closing his eyes for a second as a wave of dizziness washed over him, the drug's effect wasn't completely gone then. What had Moriarty given him? Elephant tranquilizer?

"Yes, you don't have a horde of demons without certain names cropping up. I have one of my own with them, in fact." Moriarty stood up, his hand tracing his cheek, his lips, cupping his chin.

"You are full of surprises, you know that, sweetie. How do you know of them?" Sebastian would usually have to deal with the full throttle of his hunger at this touch but he didn't feel that, he felt a similar feeling but with a very different hunger.

"I can't tell you that. But I can tell you that if you phone your contact and ask about some blood, they may be very helpful." Sebastian eyed Mori, waiting for his response. Mori leaned closer into the already intimate space, his lips brushing his.

"Are you a demon?" He whispered.

"No." Sebastian pressed his lips against Jim's. His long arms winding round Jim's smaller body, drawing him closer.

"What are you, then?" Jim bit down on his lip, and Sebastian smirked at the tingle of pain.

"I'm Sebastian. Now stop asking questions." And then Sebastian was forcing his way into Jim's mouth and claiming him for his own. Their tongues twisted and became entangled, battling for supremacy, and never finding it. The kiss was more like cruelty than affection as they bit and clung to each other. Moriarty moaned, knotting his hands in his hair and bringing Sebastian closer, kissing him deeper.

Sebastian's heartbeat throbbed in his ears and his body pounded with adrenaline and suddenly he was cupping Jim's face roughly, tilting it up to him and opening his mouth further, sliding their tongues together. Jim's facial hair was unexpectedly coarse beneath his hands, his body warm and firm next to his. Jim's hands dropped down to Sebastian's hips, fingers dipping just into the waistband of his trousers. Sebastian quickly grabbed the left one and twisted his wrist roughly. Jim made a low noise in his throat and surged up against him, and the slight whimper was enough to send Sebastian reeling back, dragging his shirt off, and pinning Moriarty with his hips. Moriarty's fingers tracked over his collarbone and down his muscled chest, circling his nipples before enclosing his mouth around them and sucking. Sebastian gasped, rocking his hips into Jim and feeling their hard groins rub together.

Sebastian couldn't take it anymore; he needed to feel Moriarty's skin, the vulnerability of it so close to him. He'd never had this, always given into his hunger before he could truly enjoy these human sensations but this time was different, he craved Moriarty more than any food, he wanted him, wanted to keep him.

He tugged at his tight, blue shirt but Jim stopped him with a kiss, and Sebastian let him drag his fingers back over his head.

"No, tiger." He mouthed against his ear, kissing him again and then releasing Sebastian's hands as his mouth trailed its way down Sebastian's body. Jim bit him savagely on the neck, leaving a red, sore mark which made Sebastian growl and his hips lurch upwards. Moriarty's teeth grazed his skin as he grinned, and then he was kissing down his chest, and Sebastian's mouth grew dry as the anticipation made him wonder if he was going to lose it too quickly but this new body didn't let him down.

Jim pulled down his trousers, dragging them far away. Sebastian should have felt exposed and vulnerable but all he could see was Moriarty's lustful stare and all he could feel was the throbbing ache of his own longing. Jim licked his lips.

"Come here." Sebastian commanded huskily, drawing satisfaction from the way Jim obeyed, slinking to his knees like a snake. He wrapped his lips around the tip of Sebastian's dick and slowly, painfully slowly, took it all into his mouth. No longer able to control himself, Sebastian curled his fingers into Jim's hair and held him still while he thrust into the wet heat of Jim's mouth. Jim gave a groan, the rumbling hum of it causing Sebastian to emit his own moan while he increased his pace. As he felt himself teetering towards the edge of oblivion so much more intense than anything he'd thought possible, Mori took him in so far that he should have choked, Sebastian couldn't hold it any longer.

"Please, yes, Jim!" He groaned and threw his head back, he felt Moriarty swallow against his dick and then he was gone and moving back up to his face. Moriarty pulled his head upwards and they kissed, the taste of him still in Jim's mouth. Sebastian loved it, needed it more than any food, he stared into Moriarty's dark eyes and wondered if he'd met his match.

"Sebby..?" Jim stroked Sebastian's scars making him shiver. Moriarty had even put a few of them there.

"I don't think it's fair you are able to stay dressed, sir." Sebastian's hands snuck beneath his shirt, at the same time watching for Jim to say no. Images flickered behind Sebastian's eyes, this relationship was unpredictable, sometimes Moriarty was almost cuddly and other times he was smashing Sebastian against the counter.

"Well, we're both hiding something, aren't we?" Moriarty hissed icily against his ear and something cold and metallic slid between them. Sebastian reacted quickly though, grabbing his hand and pushing him back against the plane wall fluidly. He grabbed his other arm and held them above Moriarty's head, leaning forward to kiss him hard against the metal.

"Please, just trust me, sir." Sebastian drew his finger along Jim's still-clothed length. Deftly unbuttoning and unzipping the criminal's trousers, he slid a hand into his pants and palmed Jim's cock. It was hard, and long and _his_. Sebastian stroked in a swift, strong rhythm, feeling his spent dick twitching when Jim moaned and bit into his shoulder.

Jim rocked his hips against Sebastian's, vying for more friction, Sebastian hands worked quicker, watching as Jim's breath left him in gasps.

"I hate you, you know –" Jim growled, unable to finish his sentence as he came and spilled over Sebastian's hand. Sebastian kept him from buckling by wrapping his arms round him.

"I hate you too, boss."

"Take me to the seat." Jim purred, sighing as he came down from the sexual high. Sebastian obeyed, picking Mori up in his arms, and dropping him in the seat.

Jim leaned down, and pulled an unseen lever that made his chair pull up and extend into a bed.

Jim's eyelashes fluttered against his skin as he squeezed beside him. Moriarty was quiet for a moment, just tracing the scar that cut through his collarbone, his breath making the hairs on Sebastian's neck raise.

"Sherlock is heading to America too," Jim said flatly as if there was an obvious point. Sebastian said nothing, he was just enjoying the feeling of fulfilment, it wasn't exactly a common occurrence. Food never filled him up and jobs were thrilling but when they ended, they ended but this just kept going. The feeling of Jim next to him, the memory of lips, tongue and mouth all over him, even his fingers drawing along the scars of this body mesmerised him.

He wrapped an arm around his torso, pressing until there was no space between them. Moriarty was _his_.

"And that's where you need to go, and that's where the Winchesters are." Moriarty continued, unfazed by the contact.

"America's a big place. Anyway it's where _we_ need to go now, Mori." Sebastian said gruffly.

"Mori?" Jim tilted Sebastian's head down using his finger, and Sebastian just laughed, the rumbles of it spreading through the whole bed.

"Am I not allowed to give you pet names?" Sebastian removed Jim's finger to take into his mouth but Jim pulled away.

"Not since you know things you are not supposed to." Jim's voice was hard but Sebastian would be bibbed before Jim could ruin this for him.

"You have two days, be grateful I do. Now, are you going to call your contact or not? Tick tock." Sebastian knew his pushing past the boundaries, Moriarty enjoyed showing him who was boss, he had been used to punishments almost daily when he'd first been employed under him. Knives held over fire, pouring acid into his wounds, eating gunpowder, he'd been his toy.

Sebastian ruffled Jim's hair, smiling when he flicked his hand away and pushed harder than necessary on his chest.

"I'm having a smoke first. Care to join me?" Moriarty stood up, leaving the bed feeling bare. Sebastian felt the crawling dislike the idea of a cigar triggered in his memories; he'd always preferred a good scotch.

"You know you'll end up having a boring death if you keep that up." Sebastian leered but Jim just shrugged, taking a cigar from the table and lighting it up. Sebastian could tell the demon thing was getting to him; the absence of a witty retort actually felt wrong.

Moriarty studied the brown length of the cigar, as if wondering just how insignificant it was now, and then sucked its tip. Sebastian's cock trembled. Moriarty could obviously see it as a smirk was now curling his lips.

"So what's so special about this blood, darling?" He walked back, straddling Sebastian's chest.

"Simple. The blood belongs to the King of Hell if the Winchesters are as good as their reputation precedes." Sebastian struggled not to cough as Moriarty blew smoke at him.

"The Winchesters, according to their psych records, believe they are two brothers who go around and kill monsters and started the apocalypse. If you refer to their documentations, they are also regenerating, mass murderers. Dean alone has died 3 times in the past few years. Yet even when caught by high-ranking FBI agents, they escape, leaving no trace of ever having been there. My contact also suggests they have an old friend with wings who used to own a halo. And now you say they have the blood of the King of Hell. I'd say that's a lot to live up to."

Jim flicked open his phone at that, his excitement bright and hungry. He pressed a few buttons and then it was ringing, he kept it pressed against his ear, frowning when it wasn't received within the first ring. Meg was usually good at this, one of his best. It went to voicemail.

"Honeybun. 873 MI. Kisses."

Moriarty snapped the phone shut.

"She always was my best." Moriarty thought out-loud, looking more distant than Sebastian could remember. He leant up, kissing his neck, ear and finally, his mouth.

"Where is it?" He whispered against his lips.

"At a post office box, sweetie. All packaged nice and safe." Moriarty's eyes flashed dark, eager with renewed passion. "So what do we do this blood?"  
"One particular binding spell, so what'll it be, Boss?"

…


	6. Purgatory

xxxxxxxx

"What's up with mutant Ugly Duckling?" Dean slumped back against the pillar, resting his head delicately so he didn't cause any more blood to spill. Gordy hadn't exactly bitten him delicately like Edward sparkly Cullen would, he'd practically ripped his way through him, and though Cas hadn't let go of his hand, it was taking Cas a lot longer than usual to heal him. Dean tried not to think too much of it but 2014 Cas appeared in his mind, broken and verging on crazy, powerless as Heaven had left him. Lucifer telling him he could change as many details as he liked, it would always end like that. He closed his eyes tight, this was just temporary.

"You're referring to the Behemoth." Cas said after a pause, making Dean smile internally, hearing Cas' voice in his head. _I do not understand that reference, Dean._ "There's nothing "up" with him as you say, he's actually one of our best chances to destroy the leviathans." Cas' tone was thoughtful, and not in the way of contemplating how to save the monkeys from the cages but in a good way. The old way.

Dean couldn't help but scoff at the idea. "Yeah, right. You planning to tame him with cookies and bring it home?"

Cas audibly sighed. "The Behemoth was God's first righteous warrior, created to 'cull' the leviathans, keep them in check as it were. They were God's gatekeepers of purgatory, made so the leviathans didn't eat the entire population-"

"Of his dumping ground?" Dean suggested, he really didn't see why God hadn't invested in a button that said "erase all".

"I suppose that's one way to think of it. There are many of them and though they look savage and aren't exactly the most intelligent of Our Father's creations, they are not cruel for the sake of it, they strive only for order and continued… sustenance." Cas carefully chose his words, but it didn't matter how clever it sounded, Sam had gone to Stanford to do Law, clever words no longer impressed Dean.

"Well, that's just dandy, then. We should invite him round for tea and discuss the whole idea, oh no, he's selling us to the highest bidder for his tea. We probably won't be available – busy being tortured or something." Dean growled quietly, feeling his neck ache as he struggled to keep talking.

"I'm just telling you what I know, Dean. Please." And Dean stopped, and he wanted to smash his head against something. Not again, he was hurting Cas again, he took a deep breath, he had to keep his temper under control from now on.

"I'm sorry, Cas. I'm just… frustrated." Dean grimaced, of all the places to finally discuss his 'feelings'. Cas was quiet but he wasn't crying or shaking with hysterical laughter or saying he missed board games so this was a bonus as far as Dean could tell. Dean felt tense, Cas was still vulnerable despite his obvious improvement, he could still bounce back to the broken pacifist he had been and Dean needed his friend right now. Someone who was going to fight with him out of this place and care whether they made it or not.

Cas' fingers squeezed his briefly and Dean felt his pain diminish momentarily, he guessed this was Cas' way of saying 'thank you'.

"Hey, Cas, what happened to all your mojo?" Would've been useful to have. Just sayin'. Or thinkin'.

Cas was quiet for a moment, and Dean didn't push him, he could wait for Cas. "Purgatory is not like Earth, or Hell and Heaven. It is outside my supposed plane of existence, we are almost in a different dimension entirely. I am practically human here; I am drawing on very small strings of power from Heaven. There is a reason a monster like Behemoth is the gatekeeper of this land and not angels." Cas strained to speak and Dean could sense how even healing Dean was tiring him.

"Okay, just don't push yourself; we need you to be at your best when we bust outta here." Dean tried to encourage him, while looking out at the little he could see of the rest of the cave. If Cas was weak, and supposedly only going to get weaker, then they needed to make their escape soon.

Smoke hazed his view as the cave turned a corner, he could smell burning meat, though he doubted that they were serving up his favourite bacon burgers. He couldn't see the Behemoth, though little shadows flickered past and nearby but nothing came too close. For now the Behemoth wanted them safe and sound. Dean looked at his closer surroundings, at the rope, but Gordon had been one of the best and if anything, was even better at what he did now he was a monster. There was no way Dean could loosen their hold.

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly, inhaling the deep scent of the smoke.

"You know, Cas, I miss pie." Dean murmured, tiring as his adrenaline drained, it had been a long day after all. He was hungry, and tired and defeating Dick was supposed to mean getting drunk, laying in front of the stars and teasing Sam about his sideburns. One day, they'd get an apocalypse where that worked; surely, it was all to do with odds.

"I hope Sam's alright." Cas said, his usually deadpan voice was now weary and concerned and Dean felt oddly comforted that Cas cared for Sam even though his predicament probably sucked a whole lot worse. Dean tried not to think of the Cas he'd been, of what he had done to Sam before. That hadn't been his Cas, that had been a distressed, lost Castiel. A Castiel, as much as he hated to admit, that he'd helped to create. He'd been the one to push Cas the final step to free will, to fight for what he thought was right, to do whatever was needed for the greatest good and though he didn't agree with how he'd gone through with it, Castiel had been trying to save them. And Cas was truly sorry, he'd become crazy with his regret, he'd wanted to die because of what he'd done, he thought he didn't deserve to live. Dean shook his head, momentarily forgetting his injury resulting in a loud wince and Cas gripped his hand firmly. He felt his skin draw tauter, trying to knit together.

"Cas, don't draw yourself out. Seriously, I will not be dragging you behind me as I kick ass."

"Sorry, dean."

"Stop saying that, too."

"Sorry, Dea-"

"Cas!"

Cas chuckled, a real chuckle, one that reminded him of a time when he didn't need to know the plural of apocalypse. "I am sorry, Dean, I can't help it. I am very tired."

"Nah, me too, man. Me too. I suppose I'm not going to enjoy the simple joy of a motel room tonight though." Dean laughed weakly, coughing to a stop as his body protested.

"When we get back, I will make a pie for us all." Cas said, and Dean could imagine it. Cas personally picking apples from an orchard in Vienna, taking wheat from Egypt and forcing Dean and Sam to sit and eat the homemade pie that would have been done precisely to the recipe.

"You gonna eat with us?" Dean played along, keeping the image in his mind as long as possible.

"I don't need to eat, Dean." Cas was lost and Dean felt his lips curl into a grin independently.

"You haven't had pie, Cas. Trust me, you need to eat pie." With custard, or cream, man, he'd have to get Cas to walk more so he could enjoy all the beautiful delicacies of food without getting fat.

"I trust you, even if you seem to have an unhealthy obsession." Cas replied with a yawn. Dean didn't think he'd ever heard Cas yawn before.

"It's not unhealthy. You're unhealthy." Dean frowned; obviously his lack of sleep was affecting his retort ability.

"My neck isn't the one gaping." Cas observed.

"That's totally normal. I'm a Winchester, after all." Dean chuckled, was there a moment when he wasn't bleeding?

"Not funny, Dean." Cas was slipping; Dean could feel his fingers softening their grip. He bit his lip, feeling the pain crawling at his skin at a renewed pace, it was really itchy too. But he wasn't about to complain.

"I think it was. Would you prefer it had mating goat mouths in it?" Dean was suddenly yawning himself, it really was catchy. But he had to stay awake, for what good it would do.

"It's funnier in Enochian." Cas feebly defended himself, his words becoming slower and heavy.

"Sure it is." The thought sobered him, had Cas ever joked with his siblings? Had he been close with any of them? He wondered if him and Sam had been his first real family or if he had had brothers and sisters he really cared for.

"Mm." Cas mumbled, and Dean kept quiet after that. He just sat, and listened to Cas' breathing deepening, watched the smoke crawl over them, and he really hoped that they would bust out of there. Because if they didn't, he didn't think he would see Sam again, taste another pie, at this point he might have even taken up a game of twister with Cas. He couldn't help but be grateful that he wasn't alone this time though; he felt that bit stronger with Cas beside him.

Xxxxxxxx

Sam sat outside, on the impala. He watched the stars, and drank a beer. The night sky shone as brightly as it ever had but it wasn't the same.

"Happy 4th July." Sam whispered to the emptiness, taking a swig of beer.

There were no fireworks.

Xxxxxxxxx

A gust of cold licked at the bare of his back, and Dean's eyes flickered open, the sounds of a hushed argument washed over him and he tried to pull his hands up so he could rub his tired eyes. He couldn't. That was when he remembered where he was.

"Cas?" The arguing stopped and Dean lifted his head, surprised at the ease of it, blinking his eyes open he saw his wound was practically healed. He also saw that there was a lack of Cas behind him, he turned and Cas was in front of him, barely standing, being supported by a woman who looked unhappy.

"Dean." Cas said, his voice a mixture of relief and exhaustion and reined in fury. Dean hoped the latter was not for him. He'd only been sleeping.

"What's going on? Are we busting out?" Dean felt hopeful but then the way the woman was looking at him wasn't making him feel rescued. There seemed to be a reason he was still tied to the pillar instead of running for freedom.

"We need to go, Castiel, now." The woman hissed, shifting her weight so that they were angled away from Dean but Cas frowned. Dean struggled against the ropes; there was no way they were leaving him.

"We cannot leave him." Cas shirked her off but only fell to the ground as he did, he tried to crawl over to Dean but the woman stopped him, bending down.

"No. I can't do that," she cast her eyes away from Dean.

"Then I am staying." Cas mumbled roughly, pushing pathetically at her hold as Dean watched her encompass him, pulling him up.

"Lady, you can't leave me here." Dean hissed, eyes flicking behind them, knowing the Behemoth could come back at any point. This was his only chance.

"You'll endanger everyone, your blood stinks." The woman shook her head, looking genuinely conflicted but she was a woman with a mission. Dean wasn't part of it, he knew that look. "I could smell you from a mile away, and if Gordon has drunk from you, you are his. Nothing will hide you from him." Dean's eyes widened, his face paled. They were going to leave him, he'd never escape, Gordon would strip him bare and sell him on, chains flashed before his eyes and he cringed.

"I don't care." Cas panted from her grip, and Dean wanted to choke. He couldn't force that on Cas, Cas was like this because of him, he'd been healing Dean and now he could barely talk or move. And now he wouldn't run to safety because of Dean. Dean swallowed bile.

"Just go, Cas! You can get away! Just come back and get me. You have to go now, while you can!" Dean whispered desperately, hoping that Cas couldn't detect lies anymore. Dean didn't want Cas to leave him, he knew it was selfish, but it was the truth. The woman threw him a thankful glance but he didn't acknowledge it. Cas was shaking his head.

"No. I will stay with Dean."

"Cas-"

"Dean. I am not going to leave you here." Cas built up the strength to look up and his gaze was determined, angry. Dean matched it with his own but it wasn't long before he was looking at the floor.

"You're going to kill us all." The woman snarled at Dean – as if this was his fault - , shifted Cas delicately onto the floor and rapidly cut through Dean's ropes. With her nails. That was when Dean started to notice her appearance, the sharp teeth, the pointed, animal-like nails, the subtly yellow eyes.

"You judging me, boy?" She growled as he stared, and he rolled his eyes indignantly.

"Just looking for the extra mouth." He pulled himself to his feet, just as she slapped him with liquid. He spluttered and almost hit her as she started wiping at his face as if he was a five year old who couldn't eat properly. It was sticky and disgusting on his skin but he didn't complain. If it got him out of here it was worth it.

The woman narrowed her eyes.

"You really do smell."

"You don't exactly smell of flowers either." Dean retorted, trying not to touch his face. He felt itchy.

"That's because they don't exist." The woman whispered, less angrily this time, causing Dean to really look at her. She was young, in her twenties, though it was hard to tell as her face had been ravaged by time and the hunt for survival. Her hair was cropped close to her skull; it may have been blonde once but now was the colour of dirt as was the rest of her skin. She wore simple brown fabrics over her body, it seemed more functional than anything else, and left most of her skin bare though it was coated with ash and mud. Her eyes were also the colour of earth and they looked sad as if she had forgotten what a flower looked like.

"How do we get out of here?" Dean changed the subject; guilt was lapping at his feet. He'd sent these people to this place, if not him, people like him. Normal citizens who had become victims and then been sentenced to an eternity of this godforsaken cruelty.

"Follow me." The woman's eyes hardened, an armour of focus clearing them of exterior emotion. She leaned down, pulling Cas' arm around her neck but Dean was at his other side a second later, taking his waist and heaving him up.

"I'll take him, you cover us." Dean commanded from habit. She bared her teeth, but reluctantly let him take Cas, and started walking ahead, continuously sniffing the air.

"I thought you said you wouldn't be dragging me after you when we busted out." Cas commented, lifting his head enough to cock an eyebrow at Dean.

"Dammit Cas, and I thought I told you not to drain your energy bloody healing-"

"Shut up." Dean's gaze snapped back to Dirty, she was standing stiffly, looking straight up into the darkness where the ceiling was, or where Dean assumed the ceiling was anyway, it was too dark to tell.

"We need to lift him up, quickly." Dean gently lead Cas to where she was standing and then she was scaling the wall, her claws scratching against the rock and pulling fragments loose. She reminded him of a gigantic lizard but he kept it to himself, it wasn't the most charming compliment he'd thought of.

"Can you lift him a bit?" Dirty asked breathlessly from somewhere above them, the hairs on Dean's arms rose, he got the feeling something bad was coming. Dean placed Cas' arms around his shoulders, placing him behind him, he bent down a bit.

"Can you jump, Cas?" Dean murmured, and then grunted as Cas' weight shifted and landed on his back. He stood up, arms holding Cas' legs steady, trying not to think about Cas' breath on his neck, the solid weight of his arms around his shoulders.

"Is that okay?" Dean whispered, just as he felt Cas being pulled up from him. Cas slid from his grip and he watched him rise into the darkness, Dirty must have some awesome upper body strength.

Dean waited a moment, his heart racing. It was quiet above him. He gritted his teeth, feeling up the wall for a handhold. He had to get out of here, Dirty must have smelt something or taken her chance to get away with Cas. Well, at least she'd untied him.

"Where you going, Dean?" A hand grabbed his shoulder, flinging him backwards against the opposite wall. The air was knocked out of him and he struggled to drag another breath in. His eyelids flickered, and he watched in despair as Gordon grabbed his shirt and hauled him up so his feet dangled in the air.

"Screw you." Dean croaked, wishing he could kick his face in.

"Maybe later. Let's find our missing angel first." Gordon dragged Dean across the floor as he rounded back to where he'd been trying to climb the wall. He sniffed.

"Werewolf. The little bitch." Gordon grunted.

He let go of Dean, whistling. Immediately, a gangly being stumbled from nowhere, unnaturally long, grey wings dragged behind it and its entire face curved inwards into a bony beak. It grabbed Dean, and Dean attempted to kick it away, this was a mistake. The creature grabbed his leg, spun him round, and planted a heavy, taloned foot on his back. Dean gasped in a breath of dust and spluttered, trying not to suffocate.

"Tie him up and tell the boss that's it's a distraction, we'll need tighter security around this one." The thing tried to speak but it came out as a coarse squawk. Dean just gave his best glare as Gordon winked at him, and then he was leaping up the wall and Dean was back where he started.

Beaky didn't even bother picking him up, it just dragged him by his leg back to his pillar. Shoving him upright, and aggressively lashing Dean's wrists together. It wasn't as well done as Gordon but Dean didn't believe it would matter, this time the Behemoth wasn't going to be as generous.

Beaky screeched at him, and then clumsily staggered away. Its arms dangled awkwardly in front of it, weighing its front down as its long legs struggled to cope. Dean wondered if Eve was to thank for such a creature.

"Tell him you'll need a freaking army!" Dean shouted at his back, telling himself that it was just the dust that made his voice break. Beaky didn't react, and then he was gone.

Dean rammed his head against the pillar, embracing the shrill pain of it, and just sat there, staring at the darkness. He had been so close. He closed his eyes, feeling the coolness of one tear slipping down his cheek.

"Sammy, I don't know if I'll make it out of this one. I don't know what to do." Dean stuttered under his breath, Dirty's words echoed in his ears. "_if Gordon has drunk from you, you are his. Nothing will hide you from him." _There was nowhere he could run, he had no way to kill Gordon – if monsters could even die here – and now he was alone. He shivered; it felt like a shadow had been cast on him. He opened his eyes to see darkness, he was surrounded by it.

"What the hell?" He growled, moving his feet away from it. The darkness stayed put, but he noticed small outlines between individual bodies. His eyes widened.

"_Make her scream again, break her, Dean. She's going to be a lovely addition to your masterpiece." Alistair coaxed, his hand guiding Dean's. Dean felt her flesh give way under his knife; her blood was a ruby red that kept spilling, staining his knife and then him. He stepped closer, smelling her. Alistair let go and Dean dug the knife further, twisting it and basking in her shrieks. He sliced down into her stomach and further, watching as her insides became outsides. He stepped away, admiring the new form he had carved of her. He put the knife down, and suddenly there was a brightly glowing pin in his hands instead. He traced over her face with the scalding tip, blinding her with its heat and burning his signature into her malleable skin. Her flesh melted around the metal, and Dean delighted in the way it hissed as her tears landed on it, crudely he wrote D.W. across her face. When he was done, he started to refine his work of art. Cutting away at the bits that hung off and adding other pieces, shredding her and when he paused Alistair was always there. _

"_You're not done yet, Dean. Use your imagination, son." And Dean would be burning, the infernos of Hell consuming him. He would scream and Alistair would laugh, the pain diminishing to a faint tingle. And Dean would carry on, destroying them until they looked like that. Like the darkness._

Dean's breathing was harsh; he closed his eyes but instantly opened them again as images flashed behind his eyelids. He had kept his dreams of Hell away from Sam, especially as Sam had relived his own experience, they had always been something he could cope with, push to the bottom of a beer bottle, but now they were intense. He eyed the darkness surrounding him, just waiting for one to make a connection, to start attacking and carving and burning. Because he deserved it.

But they remained where they were, silent and still. And Dean's anguish almost overwhelmed him; he doubted these creatures could do anything anymore. If they were what he thought they were, they were broken, destroyed beyond repair.

He did not want to be surrounded by them.

"Hey! Get away from me!" Dean barked, but there was nothing. It was like he wasn't there. He tucked his knees against his chest, laying his head on them. It felt like they were sucking the warmth from the air, he sucked in a deep breath. Except it didn't help. His bottle was coming undone, it had been filled and pushed down and filled again, there was nowhere for it to go. He was going to fall apart.

And why not? There was no-one to be strong for now. This was the end.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Hours later, Dean was in the same position. His body felt numb, his mind was numb. He couldn't close his eyes to sleep, but he daren't look at the dark spirits surrounding him, so he stared at his knees, dreading the next time he would need to blink.

He was like this when Gordon came back. The darkness split for him and Dean squinted as faint light filled his view for a second, he hadn't realized just how dark it was but it didn't last long anyhow. As soon as Gordon was close enough, they swiftly enfolded around them both.

"Creepy, aren't they? I'd kill them all if I could." Gordon sat down next to Dean, and Dean put the last of his energy reserves into the hate he felt for this guy.

"What? Am I your only friend around here? 'Cause newsflash I'd kill _you_ in a second if I could, Gordy." Dean snarled, wanting so bad to be able to strangle Gordon right now.

"Aw, don't be like that, Deano. Your boyfriend got away, that's always something, right?" Gordon mocked, but there was a tightness to his words. Dean tried not to let the relief show on his face but he felt lightened, Cas had made it.

"Is there a reason you're here?" Dean glared, his arms taut. The proximity of Gordon's cold skin was making him feel queasy.

"Always straight to the point, aren't you, Deano?" Gordon slapped him on the shoulder and Dean exhaled, biting his lip. He was badly bruised from being thrown at the wall, not that Gordon would care.

"I thought you weren't allowed to touch the goods." Dean glowered; he imagined watching Gordon being hacked to pieces, or eaten alive by the Behemoth. It made him feel better.

"Not allowed to kill you, to be exact, which still leaves a load of possibilities." Gordon grinned, his tongue flicking over his lips. "You taste so god-damn human."

"Really? I always thought I'd taste like chicken." Dean fought off the urge to scream, and kick and yank off his ropes. There was nowhere he could go, anywhere Gordon couldn't find him.

"I wonder what happens to you if you die here, Dean." Gordon squatted, looking genuinely curious, his red eyes focused on him as if Dean's answer would enlighten him.

"I don't have to see your ugly mug anymore?" Dean offered, taking great pleasure in Gordon's scowl.

"Your soul though, does it remain trapped here? With the monsters? A vulnerable, little human ghost? Wouldn't last long, would it? Or does it return to where it's meant to go? Does a reaper come for it, all the way into Purgatory?"

"Don't think too hard, wouldn't want to hurt yourself. Actually, no, carry on." Dean spat, he didn't need Gordon's stupid philosophical debate right now. He just needed to live so he could get out of here.

"But aren't you interested? Because when we sell you, that monster isn't going to be as nice as me, they're going to tear you up. You're the best meat we've had in a good, long time. We were meant to feast on humans after all." Gordon was eyeing his neck, and Dean's flesh crawled. There would be no Cas to fix him up this time.

"And what if a reaper did come? Would you ask if they took 'plus one's?" Dean arched an eyebrow, feeling his heart stutter as Gordon's eyes lifted back to his. Maybe there was a chance this wouldn't end like last time.

"They're doorways. Maybe it's just about timing." Gordon said, and Dean could tell just how long he'd spent thinking about this.

"Why would you want to leave? You'll only be hunted again; you seemed to have made something of yourself here at least." Dean said sourly.

"You've only seen the tip of the needle. The only thing that wants to stay here are the Behemoth, even the leviathans and Eve wanted out. I tasted freedom for those fleeting moments in Castiel and nothing can stop me from getting it. I'll have it all." Gordon almost looked dreamy, his eyes distant, his mouth quirked. Monster.

"Guess who kicked them both back in here? Huh? Even if you do get out, it won't be for long." Dean leaned closer, his anger leaking through the cracked bottle. His Hunter instincts kept replaying the moment he would swing the machete through his neck, the way Sam had coarsely removed it with wire, there would be no freedom for Gordy.

"Tough words for someone who can't even lift their hands." Gordon smirked, mirroring Dean and leaning closer. Dean was about to comment on initiating gay chicken but Gordon was gone, and his teeth were caressing his shoulder. Dean only had time to tense in shock before Gordon was clamping down, and gulping him in, his whole body throbbed with the rhythm of his swallows and he was crying out. He felt feverishly hot yet cold, he couldn't feel his arm, just a concentration of spiking pain and he couldn't think. His breath was becoming uneven, he couldn't see. He slumped suddenly as the pressure dropped.

"You really do taste good. I'm already looking forward to seeing you again, princess." Dean couldn't speak, could barely focus on the words. He just hung there, feeling empty. A faint light embraced him and then it was dark again. He sucked in a breath, expecting for a sick moment a hand or a word of comfort, and then he was stifling huge breaths that racked his body. He closed his eyes and welcomed the images.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

"John, get in here!" Sherlock shouted and John tore his eyes from the resonating growls that were coming closer and back to Sherlock, who was standing in a blue box. He didn't care that the box looked barely big enough for two, he ran. He leapt past Sherlock, expecting to head-butt hard wood but instead landing clumsily against glass steps and tripping over them to fall on his stomach.

He heard a door shutting behind him and then a hand was in front of him. He stared at it and up.

"Hi, I'm the Doctor." A man with a dangerously orientated fringe grinned down at him, he didn't look at all worried about the fact he was in a blue box that wasn't a blue box and that two strangers had just ran inside because they were being chased by invisible dogs. John said the only thing that made sense.

"I'm John." He took the hand, sweeping down his clothes as he stood up. He couldn't help but tighten his hold on the Doctor's hand as he saw the true extent of how much this blue box wasn't a blue box.

"It's a lot bigger than I expected." John murmured, feeling like the first time he witnessed Sherlock deduce who he was. Freaked out and awed.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." The Doctor patted him on the back, and John almost fell forward. He wasn't feeling his most stable at the moment.

"What are you doing here, Doctor?" John frowned as Sherlock spoke up, he didn't sound as shocked as John felt was reasonable.

"And you are?" The Doctor skipped down the steps, scanning a flashy green thing at Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the Doctor, and his device.

"Uh-huh, human and clever, like me-clever! Lovely to meet you! Tell me what do you see?" The Doctor whipped out a wallet and produced a card which he waved at Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's blank. What are you doing here, Doctor?"

The Doctor was grinning, he ran back to John, showing him the card. "Now, what do you see?"

John blinked, feeling under pressure as he read the scrawled message. "Bowties are cool?"

"You think so, why, thank you very much!" The Doctor proudly puffed up his bowtie, laughing as if he had just cracked the most brilliant joke.

"Doctor!" Sherlock shouted and The Doctor stilled, and John sensed that the Doctor could very easily turn into something very different from what they were seeing right now.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock strode forward, getting awkwardly closer to the Doctor.

"How do you know me?" The Doctor frowned, looking him over. "We've never met, I never forget a face, and very rarely a name, except for that one time but it would be inappropriate to mention that, we've barely gotten to know each-"  
"Doctor, if you just stop talking Sherlock might be able to say." John politely interrupted; it felt weird calling someone 'Doctor'. Did he not an actual name, like Fred or Terry? Though John also couldn't imagine this man having a normal name.

"Oh, yes. That may help." The Doctor paused, falling back against the futuristic console. He looked at Sherlock expectantly. "Um, go on then." He added when Sherlock continued to stare at him.

"My brother never has been very imaginative, for example his current password is Violet112, referring to dear, old mummy and his most recent weight. Though, I still think he rounds down. By knowing this password, I have access to the British government, including the deepest, darkest corners. A particular rut of one of these corners is called Torchwood, know of it, Doctor?" Sherlock leant backwards, looking curious. He tipped his head, and John wondered why Mycroft would let Sherlock get away with this stuff. The Doctor arched an eyebrow, but his previous easy manner seemed more forced now.

"You don't strike me as the kind of man that would believe in those sorts of stories, Sherlock." The Doctor glanced at John but he just felt lost, he needed a cup of tea, not anymore of this weird stuff that kept happening.

"Most of it did seem ridiculous until I looked up why the programme had been established in the first place. That's when your name kept popping up, you and your machine, always there when there's trouble. So when I saw the blue phone-box hidden away in a suspicious laboratory, I couldn't believe it." Sherlock's eyes were wide; he touched the console, as if testing how real they were.

"Yes, well, despite my protests, Vicky the First really did hold a grudge. Wouldn't rest until my head was on a stick, or something like that. It's not like I go out intending to cause trouble, it usually finds me." The Doctor raised his hands in mock surrender, facing Sherlock, because by this point John was starting to wonder if he was still dreaming or whether that drug had actually worn off and was worrying for his mental health.

"Like right now! I never meant to come here, I was _pulled_ here to this room," The Doctor didn't look away as Sherlock turned from the console to stare just as deeply at the Doctor. "What about you, Sherlock? Why are you here?" Sherlock frowned.

"I was sent here. Weird events, behaviour, missing people. Someone has to solve the puzzle." Sherlock flashed a look at a John, and John blinked. There had been something in Sherlock's expression that had shocked him, but he was looking away again, John couldn't focus on what it was.

The Doctor grinned. "It's not as simple as that though, the things you've found suggest a problem far beyond an afternoon case in London." Sherlock pulled back from the console, eyeing The Doctor.

"Like what? What can you tell?" John's interest piqued, Sherlock was testing The Doctor, measuring him. John wondered what Sherlock had already concluded.

"Well, you've been sent by your brother to investigate not just some 'weird events' but someone. Instead you've found invisible monsters, things you can't explain and that don't fit the pattern, now you've found me and you think you're a step closer but I can tell you now Torchwood had nothing on what we're dealing with. Even I didn't until prettily recently. Something a lot bigger is happening." The Doctor stood up, his eyes flashing and he was flitting over the controls, pulling levers and pressing switches.

"You asked me why I'm here, I don't know. You saw that room. Not normal, neither were those things chasing you, in fact none of us involved are normal. My TARDIS just brought me here; I was trying to get her sorted when you popped up."

"Sort her out for what?" Sherlock followed the Doctor, and John just stood and watched, feeling very surreal.

"Oh, um, that's right. I should call Sam, it's not safe here." The Doctor pressed one last button and then was pulling out a phone, he frowned at it. And then the next second, John was catching it.

"Phone that number, never did like those things." John's eyes widened, this guy was almost as bad as Sherlock, he hoped he wasn't expected to call another murderer. At least the phone wasn't pink.

He pressed the dial button, then panicked, what was he supposed to say?

"What am I saying?" He shouted rapidly.

"It's not safe, where are you, I'm the Doctor's new friend, something along those lines." The Doctor called. "Anyone want tea by the way?"

"Um, yes please." John replied just as the ringing stopped.

"Hello?" A gruff voice answered, John wondered if it really was a murderer, just a random axe murderer in a forest. Was this a joke that the Doctor played on all his new friends?

"Hi, I'm John – um, the Doctor's friend – I was just told to tell you it's not safe here. And, er, where are you?" John garbled, sure the other man would hang up at any moment.

"Oh, right. Tell him I'm at-"

"Oh, don't worry, I've got his position! Cracking tracking system, the TARDIS! We'll be right there! And, tell him to put the kettle on, won't you?" The Doctor shouted from behind the console, he and Sherlock seemed to be studying a screen.

"Did you hear that?" John sighed, The Doctor made him think of what Sherlock would be like if he liked other people, he didn't know whether or not to be grateful.

"Yeah, I got that. How many am I catering for, John?" Sam sounded bemused and John doubted his axe-murdery potential. Which was always a good thing.

"Just three, but I'd make a large pot of tea. Long day." John was looking at the doors he'd run through, how they seemed to block out the outside world. He could almost believe that the last day had been his imagination, except that he wasn't that creative.

"I have scotch." Sam sounded serious, making John chuckle.

"Nah, I'm not a fan of Irish tea." The normal small talk felt like a luxury, he could hear the conversation going on in the background and even the little snippets were making his head whirl.

Sam snorted, "Okay, I'll be seeing you in a minute, John."

The line went dead, John frowned, "in a minute?"

He turned, walking over to where The Doctor and Sherlock were having a heated discussion.

"Um, may I interrupt briefly?" John politely cut in. Unlike Sherlock, John was still experiencing a reasonable amount of shock.

"Er, yes, go ahead, I mean technically you already have." The Doctor garbled and John started to wonder if the Doctor was Sherlock's social twin.

"How are we getting out? I mean invisible dogs outside, along with Moriarty and People Eating monsters. I don't know if you have any weapons or provisions in here but-"

"No, no weapons! None needed, you see, Johnny boy, I have a time machine." The Doctor's eyes shined and he patted the console proudly. Sherlock's crazy twin. John glanced at Sherlock urgently.

"Torchwood said the same thing, but he refuses to explain how it actually works." Sherlock stated, sounding bored as ever. He rolled his eyes at The Doctor, looking back to the door, as if wondering whether he would have more fun out with the hounds.

"That's because you wouldn't understand! Do you know how many hours I've wasted explaining this to everyone who asks? None! Because I just do this." The Doctor pulled down the lever closest to him and there was a sudden whirring noise and a green thing began pumping dramatically and the floor wobbled and John fell back onto the sofa. The room spun and John tried to find some concept of a seatbelt and failed.

"Doctor, is this supposed to happen?" John wailed, gripping tightly onto the sofa, and trying to suppress the images of bashing his head against the console or the metal rails. "Surely this isn't safe!"

"This is brilliant!" Sherlock shouted, and John paused, genuinely shocked, he didn't think he'd ever heard Sherlock so elated.

"Well, actually she is a bit unstable at the moment, still getting used to her new parts!" The Doctor shouted back, sounding vaguely guilty.

John had been about to shout something offensive when he fell on his face, the TARDIS coming to a halt.

John groaned, lifting himself, and rubbing his arms. He watched dazedly as Sherlock ran to the doors, flinging them open. John sat frozen, waiting for dogs to maul them or Moriarty to lazily saunter in but instead there were wooden floors and the sound of a kettle boiling.

"Seriously, am I still drugged?" John groaned, smothering his face with his hands, his brain was hurting.

"That really wasn't right at all, my poor girl. If you have time later, Sherlock, I'll show you a bit more. Maybe you can help me." The Doctor was stroking the screen in a way that made John think he should be averting his eyes. He really hoped Sam was normal.

"It actually worked." John glanced at Sherlock who was still standing at the entrance. He looked like he was in the middle of living his long-kept secret of a dream. John couldn't take it anymore; he stood up, and pushed past Sherlock.

"Where is that god-damn tea?" John growled, needing something stable, grounding, something that would never surprise him.

"Yes, nothing like a super-heated infusion of free radicals and tannins to make everything better." The Doctor cheered, strolling past him, his arms locked behind him as he checked out the wooden ranch.

There were books stacked in somewhat organised piles by the door, a worn sofa that looked like it could claim title of 'Great Grandmother of all sofas' was positioned with a coffee table in front of it, and an old, heavy TV balanced on a drinks cabinet. It was kinda cosy.

"Salt and devil pentagons?" Sherlock commented, examining the salt line that ran across the doorways and window sills. He toed at a carpet, revealing the red spray paint of a pentagon with unusual symbols; the same thing was replicated on the ceiling.

"Hey! Put that back!" A huge man bounded in, smoothing the carpet back and making sure the pentagon couldn't be seen. "No touching." He scolded Sherlock and John immediately had to hold back his grin at Sherlock's confused expression. He hadn't seen anyone talk to Sherlock like that.

"Moose! Did you manage to get some supplies?" The Doctor stepped forward, making sure to sidestep the carpet. Moose/Sam (John was confused as to why anybody would choose to be called Moose) nodded, brushing back his long, interfering hair. He looked like he was about to say something then reconsidered and just smiled at John and Sherlock.

"Yeah, I did, Doc. Hi, I'm Sam, you must be John and…?" Sam raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, who curtly replied.

"Sherlock."

"Well, then, welcome to the base. I put the kettle on so make yourself at home, I guess, and I'll make you a pot." He gestured to the ancient sofa, and they all made their way over, Sherlock slightly more reluctantly. John wondered if he was being overcome with deductions.

"Where's everyone else?" Sherlock said, and Sam's eyes widened.

"There is no-one else, just me." Sam frowned, looking at The Doctor, but The Doctor was currently grimacing at the doors, muttering something about wood.

"There was though." Sherlock said and John grimaced, this was not how you made friends. And it was not how you talked to an 8 foot giant either.

"Are you Hunters?" Sam's frown deepened, his tone becoming a touch threatening.

"No, I'm a consulting detective and John is an ex-soldier. How are you and The Doctor acquainted again?" Sherlock was bristling and John stiffened, looking at Sam's belt and noticing the gun straddling his hip, the knife in his pocket.

"Oh, don't worry about him, completely friendly once you jam his precious toy!" The Doctor leapt up, squeezing between the two men.

"The Doctor and I met in a lab, he just popped up-"

"What were you doing in there?" Sherlock accused.

Sam's eyes flared at that, "what are you suggesting?"

"You obviously know a lot more than any of us about what's going on. What's with the devil, voodoo rubbish you have around here? The weapons? The fact you were at the crime scene first. Even this ranch looks like a spare base, a place you go when you're at risk. What's going on?" John detected the slight desperate ruthlessness in Sherlock's voice, he wasn't used to this. He was used to science, explaining things using logic. Sam represented everything he didn't understand, and therefore distrusted.

"You haven't told them anything?" Sam rounded on the Doctor who had been edging away, the Doctor grinned coyly.

"I'm still not used to the idea, myself; I figured you'd be better at explaining. Besides, this is all good bonding time, right? And you can't have bonding time without tea, I'll start fixing that up, why don't you sit down and go through the details?" The Doctor patted the sofa's cushion alluringly until John relented and sat down. Sherlock and Sam followed suit, Sam sat on the coffee table and Sherlock drew up his knees, watching Sam. John smiled awkwardly.

"So, um, why were you at the lab?" John tried to get into a comfortable position, he kept sinking into the sofa and he felt awkward sitting upright but then he didn't think leaning back, arms sprawled would send an appropriate message. This felt serious, whatever it was.

"I was there to stop a…" Sam hesitated for a moment, looking to the kitchen, then visibly steeling himself, his chin lifting, his spine straightening, "monster. He was called Dick, you may have heard of him, the CEO of _Richard Roman Entreprises_."

"And you killed him?" Sherlock asked.

"My brother did. Him and our friend, Castiel. The guy exploded in a black mess and when I looked up all three of them were gone. That was when the Doctor appeared." Sam gestured to the kitchen just as the Doctor shouted out.

"Hey, do you have any biscuits?" The Doctor peeked round the corner, his hair wiggling comically.

"Sorry, Doc, you were lucky we had tea." Sam smiled as the Doctor ran his hand through his hair dramatically as if he'd been told the world had 5 minutes before meltdown.

"Ah, I'll be right back!" They all watched as the Doctor ran back to the TARDIS.

"Is he gonna use that thing to buy some biscuits?" John exclaimed.

"I highly doubt he has any money." Sherlock commented, they were still watching, waiting to see if the TARDIS would start whatever it did.

"What, you think he steals them?" Sam wondered if he just parked the TARDIS in the confectionary aisle.

"No, I expect he has a room dedicated to them or something similar." Sherlock smirked and Sam chuckled, easily imagining it.

John dragged his gaze from the TARDIS and tried to get back on topic. "Anyway, Sam, you said 'monster'. Do you-"

"He believes he hunts them, and there are others too. What kind of monster exactly was Richard Roman?" Sherlock interrupted, focusing intensely on Sam, making him squirm uncomfortably. What was it with all these British people?

"He was a Leviathan, some monster from Purgatory, there's a whole bunch of them trying to convert humans into cattle at the moment and me and my brother were trying to stop him."

"My brother and I." Sherlock corrected.

"What?" Sam stuttered, "is he always like this?" He glanced at John, he struck him as the only other normal person here.

"Except when he's worse." John laughed at Sherlock's glare. "Do monsters pop out of purgatory often? Should I be worried about this stuff?" John questioned, going with the flow, it was hard to take all this in rationally.

"Not really, just in the last few years but we're taking care of it, well, we were anyway." Sam dropped his gaze and John recognized that look. That was the look of a man who'd lost people, who had to keep fighting but was losing the motivation, however he had no choice, he would keep going anyway. He'd seen it all the time when he'd been treating soldiers. He suddenly realized this man had lost his brother and friend, and now he was having to explain his world to two sceptical bastards. He felt like a twit.

"I'm sorry. We're being dicks, you don't need this." John stopped Sherlock with a look, and smiled when Sam looked up, grateful.

"Nah, I'm just tired." Sam let out a long breath. "Feel like telling me why you're here? How'd you meet the Doc?" Sam jumped as the Doctor suddenly appeared behind him, dropping a mountain of biscuits beside him. Sam stared; jammy dodgers, Jaffa cakes, shortbread, Oreos, bourbon and ginger biscuits, and countless other cookies were piled on some invisible plate.

"We met in much the same way really. More invisible dogs and running but practically the same. I'll get the tea." The Doctor skipped away and Sam started to wonder if he'd just replaced one crazy other-species for another.

"Invisible dogs?" Sam got back on track, thinking of Crowley's message. Why would he be using hell hounds on these two?

"Yeah, invisible and fast and growly and strong." John filled in, he wanted to carry on, maybe repeat the invisible part but he held back. He just needed his tea; he was also eyeing the shortbread.

"Did someone set them on you?" Sam persisted, looking at Sherlock.

"An old friend of ours. My arch-enemy. Moriarty. Just appeared from nowhere and set them on us." Sherlock said, looking slightly distant as if he was still thinking that through in his mind, going through all possible scenarios of what it could mean.

Sam ignored the 'arch-enemy'; he just figured Sherlock was that kind of guy. "Does he have a scrawny neck?"

John spluttered, not expecting that.

"Yes, I suppose you could describe it as such. Why?" Sherlock leaned forward, taking a bourbon biscuit and slowly taking it apart.

"And now I have tea! Move it, Moose!" The Doctor edged in, butt pointing at Sherlock as he balanced the tray precariously onto the coffee table, mission accomplished, he plopped between John and Sherlock.

"Where am I supposed to sit now?" Sam stood, looking around the room.

"I removed your stuff from the kitchen, so you could take one of those chairs." The Doctor winked sneakily at him while taking a jammy dodger.

"You better not have damaged anything, Doctor." Sam growled, striding to the kitchen.

"Of, course not!" The Doctor shouted back, nibbling on the biscuit. "Did I miss anything?" He nudged Sherlock who glared at him.

"Oooh, that's not a happy face! It's probably that bourbon, I always wondered if they had a hidden agenda. Have some tea, it'll help." The Doctor nodded, waiting patiently for John to finish making his own tea and then pouring a tea for himself and Sherlock.

"I don't need some placebo effect." Sherlock grumbled.

"Sugar?" The Doctor asked.

"He has three quarters of a teaspoon." John replied for him.

"Sam, how do you have your tea?" The Doctor shouted, stirring hastily, secretly revelling in the whirlpool he created.

"I don't!" Sam came back, carrying a chair. He dropped it next to John, then bent and pulled out an icebox from under the coffee table; and brought out a beer.

He twisted the cap off and took a long gulp.

"There you go. Do you want a dodger? I think they'll go splendidly together!" The Doctor continued to harass Sherlock until he drank the tea; with a ginger biscuit thank you very much.

"This is good tea, thanks, um, both of you, I guess." John mumbled over his tea, inhaling its homely scent.

"Sam, what were you going on about when you asked about his scrawny neck?" Sherlock leaned forward, trying to see Sam from behind the Doctor who was warily picking out biscuits.

Sam took another swig of the beer, running through some sort of explanation in his head but whatever he said it would sound like something straight out of an asylum.

"You know about Leviathans, purgatory and invisible dogs, right? Well, those invisible dogs are also known as Hell Hounds who are controlled by demons who, obviously, come from Hell." He paused, then just dived straight on. "So the King of Hell recently visited me to say he was bound to some guy with a scrawny neck and that guy is also friends with some leviathan and basically if we don't fix this, we may have a bit of a catastrophic world-wide problem on our hands." There was silence and Sam drank another long gulp, he wished Dean and Cas were here. Cas could at least show them some mojo, he felt like they might be ringing the doctors in white coats very soon the way this was going.

"Moriarty is going to cause a bit of a catastrophic world-wide problem?" John tried to piece it together in a way he understood.

"Let's go with that." Sam nodded, relieved someone had said something.

"Doesn't seem like him." Sherlock stated, and John looked back at him, he couldn't help but agree. Moriarty didn't strike him as the villain that wanted mass destruction; he liked to play with people. He liked it to be fun.

"Might not be him." Sam murmured.

**Xxxxxxxxx**


	7. The Crack

The sleek Maybach prowled through the empty roads, seemingly with no destination in mind. Wherever it went, darkness slid closer. It ate at the road and pavement, waiting for its prey to emerge. Nobody would guess as to what was happening inside.

"Let me see it, Jim." Sebastian tried to snatch the package away from Moriarty, who ducked and snickered.

"No, I don't think so, Sebby. I'm still trying to figure out what you are. Now, tell me how this spell works." Moriarty shook his head, his fingers tightening around the little cylinder-shaped bundle. He knew he was holding his only lifeline. He had nine hours.

"Open it first. You don't even know if it's real, your agent could be playing you for a fool." Sebastian's eyes hadn't left the parcel, he looked hungry.

"No." Moriarty frowned dangerously. Sebastian paused, and then sprung. His hands wrapped around the vial and Moriarty was forced to let go, he started tearing at the packaging.

A click and he felt the cold metal of a pistol at his forehead.

"Give it back, sweetie." Jim's falsely high-pitched voice sounded as an alarm for inevitable doom. Sebastian reflexively stopped tearing and looked to Jim.

"You wouldn't."

"I am very distressed. There is very little 'I wouldn't', can you be sure this is one?" Moriarty's finger pressed slightly harder on the trigger.

Sebastian grimaced; he could not do what he needed without Moriarty. He needed a soul to bind Crowley, but he had no such thing. But if Moriarty found out what he was, he may decide to take the honourable road and as unlikely as it seemed it was not worth risking.

"Fine!" Sebastian handed it back, Jim smugly put it into his pocket. The gun did not move.

"Tell me how to do the ritual." Moriarty leaned backwards, considering him. Sebastian growled.

"Soak a black cloth in the blood, cover the cloth in salt and begin to burn it." Sebastian smirked, "I'm not telling you anymore while you have that gun to my head."

"Hm." Jim smiled.

BLAM.

Sebastian fell back against the door, the force of the blast making his head ring, black blood dribbled from his head. He could not open his eyes as the ringing turned to drumming between his ears. He barely heard Moriarty exclaim,

"I knew it!" He blinked as Moriarty gave the driver actual directions, then started massaging his temples, feeling a headache setting in.

"You're really wearing my patience, Moriarty."

"What have you done to Sebastian?" Moriarty breathed.

"I became him. I am Sebastian, or the most you'll ever see of him." Sebastian looked up, dabbing at the wound. He hissed, still feeling the bullet slowly making its way back out.

"Who were you before you were Sebastian?" Moriarty brought out a handkerchief, wiping his gun clean.

"A taxi driver. Before that, a Hunter, before that an accountant and before that-"

"Shut up. Who do you work for?" Sebastian smirked, he'd decided that answer quite recently.

"Myself."

"Should I assume you were the one who ruined my Timberland shoes?" Moriarty did not look up but Sebastian was impressed.

"I stole your spoon as well." Sebastian grinned but it was short-lived. He grunted in pain as he plucked the bullet from his head.

"Why were you trying to kill me?" Jim held out the handkerchief and after a seconds hesitation, Sebastian gave him the bullet.

"Orders. You were looking into my previous boss's work. He didn't like it." Sebastian tried to keep it sweet, he was on unsure territory.

Jim was quiet for a moment, studying the bullet, wiping the black ooze off it and then proceeding to place it in the car door. There was an electrical whirring.

"What are you doing?" Sebastian frowned.

"We're here." Moriarty smiled, opening the door and leaving, without as much as a glance at Sebastian.

Sebastian sat in the car, alone, feeling like he had missed something but soon enough it wouldn't matter. It was nearly done.

…

"Do I need to say anything?" Moriarty stood in front of a glass table, watching his reflection in the grand mirror that scaled the wall. He looked pale; his dark eyes seemed black next to his white skin. He had to suppress a cold shiver as he saw his reflection melt and scream at him, before fading back to the blank expression that he was currently wearing. Sebastian was leaning back on the unnecessarily large bed, his torso bare, still bemused that Moriarty had chosen a place like this to conduct a dangerous and ancient ritual.

"You can if you like, some like it for the overall effect. Plus the creature you're binding can usually hear you. Sometimes adds to the thrill." Sebastian hungrily eyed his black shirt that was now wet with the demon's blood. He was so close to having all that power.

Moriarty didn't reply, sprinkling salt on the cloth and holding it up to the gold candlestick. They were both raptured as the flame licked at the cloth and then clung on, burning with lust and greedily devouring its prey.

"Now." Sebastian said, barely conscious of speaking. He watched intently as the flame grew stronger.

Moriarty dropped the cloth; it fluttered, seemingly held in the air for a second before it disappeared into the red liquid that was Moriarty's own blood. The fire stood no chance. It was overwhelmed by the thickness that surrounded it on all sides. Sputtering, it relinquished its ashen corpse.

Moriarty opened a black box next to the bowl of blood and took out a ring. It was solid gold, and its face had been carved with a pentacle and other supernatural symbols, it felt heavy in his hands, he was literally holding a legend. It was the ring of Solomon.

Moriarty slipped it on, feeling the room heat up. Sebastian leaned forward.

"You're mine." Moriarty whispered as he dipped the ring in. The air crackled and tightened around him, becoming thinner. Sebastian calmly observed the lights flickering, the building pressure as something was dragged there against its will.

Then it was all still. A balding man in a black suit was stood next to Jim, surveying the ingredients to his own imprisonment.

"I was just slicing through long awaited justice." The man said, as if in mourning.

"Are you the King of Hell?" Moriarty ignored him; he could see his real face, with its twisted and dark features that should not have existed. It made his skin crawl, he wanted to destroy the thing or get away. But he still had time; he would not be leaving through the veil to become one of these hideous creatures.

"One and only, I really should have relished burning her a bit longer." The King of Hell's eyebrows were raised in acknowledgement of Sebastian. Sebastian just licked his lips. So close.

"Then break my contract." Moriarty blew on the ring, wondering if the liquid would seal permanently. Crowley shivered, feeling the breeze deep inside of him.

"A name would be appreciated." Crowley eyed the ring, the thing binding him to this idiot. Only seconds before he had been making swift his promise to turn Meg into jerky and now his joy had been interrupted because of that goddamn ring. How had that thing evaded his grasp? He would have it melted down along with this infuriating speck of dirt once this was over and he planned for it to be over very soon.

Moriarty was just about to speak up when Sebastian interrupted.

"No name is needed, snake. You are bound to his soul, you know the contract, and you can break it here and now without a name." Sebastian smirked at the demon's glare; he was not going to let anything go wrong.

Moriarty turned his glare on the demon too; he was not in the mood to be messed about.

"Touchy. Can't blame a guy for trying." Crowley shrugged and clicked his fingers. Moriarty gasped, feeling like a chain had been ripped out of him. He held onto the table, feeling shaky, he held his breath, trying to keep from heaving up his stomach.

Crowley smiled smugly, he could have made it less painful but where was the fun in that?

"Well, that's done. You may as well set me free now, and we can go on our merry little ways-"

"Shut up. Leave. We'll call you back when we need you again." Sebastian dismissed Crowley, walking over to Moriarty.

"He's the one with the ring, not you. Does he even know what you are? If you think demons are ugly, kid, wait till you see what's inside him." Crowley scowled at Sebastian; he really did dislike the sods. Subtly he removed what was left of his blood from the bowl; at least no-one else would have it.

"What is he?" Moriarty croaked from next to him.

"Leviathan, he'll eat you up before you can appreciate another second of your newfound freedom." Crowley watched as Sebastian went to touch Moriarty, but was pushed away.

"Kill him." Moriarty huffed. Crowley felt the binds around his soul contract but the kid was new, commands had to be precise.

"Sure. I'll be right back. When you're dead." And Crowley was gone.

….

Moriarty went to speak again but Sebastian held him by the jaw, keeping his mouth shut.

"Kill me? I thought we could be friends." Sebastian leered, "Seriously, Jim, why kill me? What have I done?" He loosened his hold on Moriarty's jaw and felt him growl.

"You tried to kill me. You just want to use me." Jim's eyes sparked with spite but the fact that he had not tried to hurt him with some concealed weapon intrigued Sebastian.

"So what? You never been used before? You got something out of it." Moriarty frowned, and Sebastian's eyes widened. Moriarty never had been used before; he was always the one in control. Even the demon deal had been a calculated move, something he'd been sure he could evade given enough time.

"It's not all bad." Sebastian leaned in, sucking on his neck and then biting just to feel Moriarty tense beneath him. He felt hungry but in a way completely different to the hunger he was used to. He was hungry for this man. He wanted to feel the power struggle, the fight for dominance. He wanted to be surprised by this weak and pathetic species. This was taking playing with his food to a new extreme and he knew others of his kind would be disgusted, but he didn't care.

He gasped as Moriarty roughly pulled his head back by his hair and leaned in. "I'll make sure."

Then Moriarty pushed him backwards, licking his lips, his eyes swiftly taking him in. "I know what you want."

A smile slowly unfurled along Sebastian's face. His Moriarty wasn't dumb, of course he did.

"And?"

Jim stepped right into his chest, and then shoved him against the wall. "You're going to have to take it by force."

Sebastian actually laughed, his chest tightened as he struggled to breathe and then Moriarty was kissing him and he was ferocious, stealing all of his oxygen and still, Sebastian didn't want it to stop.

Jim moaned quietly as Sebastian cupped his hard flesh, releasing his mouth momentarily but it was only a temporary pause. Moriarty moved with a new determination, and Sebastian revelled in it, making Moriarty force his lips open with his tongue. Moriarty had his arm pushed up against his chest and, although he knew he could throw him off with a push, Sebastian wrestled only with his tongue and Moriarty's belt buckle.

He absorbed the feeling of Moriarty's hot mouth at his throat and the tips of his fingers digging into his hips. His skin burned with their heat and he could not stand it anymore. He needed more. He pushed Moriarty back, grinning at his surprised expression. He pulled him back again using his tie and whispered into his collarbone.

"Strip." His voice was thick with lust and he smirked greedily when Jim loosened his tie, freeing himself, but it wasn't quick enough. He desperately started unbuttoning his shirt, finally just ripping the last few buttons off as he pulled it apart.

Moriarty flung it off and bit Sebastian's bottom lip hard, and pressing their groins together making Sebastian arch into him. "That was Ralph Lauren."

"I don't care." Sebastian moaned, loving the feeling of his bare skin touching Jim's. There were still too many layers between them though. Moriarty was a step ahead.

"Get them off." He whipped off Sebastian's belt, slapping it against his ass to emphasize the command. Sebastian grunted, he could actually feel that.

"Yes, boss." They quickly reduced themselves to two simple, naked bodies. And then it was strategy time, the ultimate decision. Sebastian was pretty sure he was going to be the victor as he forced Moriarty down onto the bed but Moriarty wasn't so easily conquered, he was used to overpowering this body. He tangled their legs together and rolled them off the bed so Moriarty landed on top of Sebastian. Sebastian was about to push him off when Moriarty rolled him over onto his front, sitting firmly on his back.

The next moment, cold metal was linking his hands together. Sebastian felt Moriarty trail his fingers down his back, caressing his butt cheeks, he whimpered involuntarily. The lights flickered.

"No. Can't have that." Moriarty leaned over him, holding his head up and Sebastian tried to bite him as he sealed his mouth shut with a thick swathe of duct tape.

"You look so fucking lush like this. Reminds me of good, old times." Moriarty rubbed his cock against his back entrance, dancing along its rim.

"If I can't kill you, I'm certainly going to enjoy you." Sebastian writhed, was Moriarty seriously using the King of Hell as a sex service?

Moriarty looped Seb's belt over his hand, letting the end hang down.

"It's time Sebby learned. To. Remember. His. Place." He punctuated each word with a vicious lash to his buttocks and thighs. Sebastian moaned into the carpet, arching into the floor when Jim then sucked at the sore marks. He pulled Sebastian's legs further apart, sitting between them.

"This looks fun." Sebastian gasped against the tape as his anus was suddenly stretched viciously by some instrument. He struggled to breathe, and it was so invigorating.

"Just like playing doctors. Do you think John and Sherlock play like this?" Moriarty chuckled, tonguing at Sebastian's ass, noting how swollen his balls were.

He grinned, his hips rolled across Sebastian's ass and he closed his eyes briefly, savouring this moment. He sucked his fingers, making them wet as his tongue rolled over them and then he forced them inside that sweet hole.

Sebastian bucked and Moriarty groaned at the motion on his balls. He rubbed his fingers round, widening and deepening the entrance, forcing the fingers in further. He felt painfully hard already.

He lifted Sebastian's knees so he could get better access, letting his fingers slide out, and in one smooth motion forced his dick in instead.

He moaned, relishing the tight, hot, tense muscle surrounding him. He sank all the way in, touching prostate. Sebastian clenched around him and his breath hitched.

"Such a perfect, tight ass." Jim mumbled, sliding his arms around Sebastian and pulling at his nipples, enjoying the way Sebastian moved in response to him, unable to speak.

And then he couldn't wait anymore, arousal coiled tightly in his gut, making his thighs tingle, making the blood pound in his ears but he wouldn't come until he had ruined Sebastian, until he was trembling beneath him.

Jim hooked his arms behind Sebastian's knees and pushed his legs up even further, tilting his pelvis upwards and pulling out slightly. He thrust inside sharply, hitting Sebastian's prostate on every stroke, bruising his thighs, making him cry out wildly, his muscles clamping deliciously around him.

It was so intense, absolutely mind destroying pleasure. Sebastian's legs were weak around him; the only thing holding them up was Moriarty's arms.

"Fuck, Sebby! You're so… fuck!" Moriarty bit his tongue, and did one last vicious stroke. He smashed against Sebastian and the whole world seemed to rock. Sebastian screamed behind the tape and Moriarty couldn't hold himself in anymore, the scream sending him over the edge in one hot, long burst. He filled Sebastian up and just held on.

Which was why he wasn't ready when Sebastian took control.

The cufflinks broke and Sebastian rolled around in a way that left Jim beneath him. Jim was still trembling from ecstasy and his eyes didn't widen in fear like Sebastian had expected but narrowed in challenge.

"Do it." Moriarty hissed, his dark eyes shining.

And Sebastian did exactly what his instincts told him to. He obeyed.

He leaned in; kissing Moriarty till his chest hurt from lack of air and even then he kept going, until his tongue forked and slid further down into Jim's body. His body throbbed with black veins and he spasmed, coming, releasing black goo onto Moriarty's stomach, and then it came out of his mouth. In seconds, he was stuffing Moriarty's body with his self and it felt good.

The body of Sebastian Moran collapsed, and Moriarty carefully picked it up, setting it on the bed. It had served him well.

"Together, the world will kneel before us." Moriarty licked his lips.

…..

Amelia sat huddled on her bed, looking out of the window, waiting for her ragged man. She had known he wouldn't be back as soon as he had hoped, his box had told her so but still, something about the Doctor told her he was beyond words and expectations. He would be back.

Amelia flinched as the crack widened, the screams and whimpers filling her head. She pulled a blanket over her head, trying not to cry but the tears came out anyway.

"Doctor, please…" The little girl sniffed, her voice breaking, her arms raw with goosebumps. Outside the darkness stretched, silent and empty.

Her plea goes unheard. The crack is opening.


	8. One Hell or Another Part 1

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Far out in the distance, Dean watched as the whole sky turned into a quivering mass of purple. An impenetrable wall that raced to engulf everything in its path, and they were heading straight for it. The storm seemed to have a mind of its own like it was a god in its own right. The ground trembled and a burst of bright crimson collided with the ground, turning to blood mist as it faded.

"What's the hold up, Dean-o? Is the big, bad Hunter scared of a cloud?" Gordon mocked, pulling at his rope savagely, almost causing Dean to trip. He grunted, his throat too dry to answer and his mind too tired to bother to argue. That storm wasn't normal, that clotted tangle of darkness was not a cloud. There were no clouds in Purgatory. Dean looked up and his face felt long, the sky wasn't blue like home, it was white. Like an unfinished canvas, with a black smudge that only got bigger no matter how much you scrubbed.

They were walking along desert. Dean felt sticky and hot despite the lack of actual weather. There was only temperature and light, like a dimmer switch, which flickered once in a while as if the bulb was going out. Dean found himself longing for the simple, cool touch of a breeze.

It felt like they had been walking for years, everything looked the same. Sometimes he thought he saw random areas of woodland but they must have been mirages because everyone else ignored them. He was mostly left alone, dragged behind Gordon, the Behemoth close by, the rest of the monsters spread out. Gordon had laughed that the werewolf had done them a favour, covering him in dead blood meant other predators couldn't smell him, making their journey that much easier.

"You missing your boyfriend or something? Don't worry; we got people on the lookout. How long before he comes do you think?" Gordon seemed impervious to the arid atmosphere, he kept talking and he didn't need an answer back either, Dean had learned this pretty early on. He wondered why the other monsters didn't kill him. "Personally I hope he waits till we get to that."

Dean looked up, watching as Gordy's gaze focussed on the growing tumour in the sky. "Cause that is going to be fun, kid."

Dean just looked back to the brown, dull sand that slipped beneath his feet, making walking that much harder. Would Cas come looking? That werewolf had seemed keen on coming him for herself. Maybe he'd become preoccupied with saving some pack and forgotten about Dean. Dean wondered how long it would be before he died, he gave himself a few more days, maybe a week. He shook his head, laughing bitterly. A week. He'd survived numerous apocalypses, all sorts of demons, angels and monsters and all it took was Gordy and a guy with an excess of mouths to finally get him.

"What's so funny, Dean-o? Share with the class, wouldn't you?" Gordon shouted from upfront.

"Just imagining Cas ripping your head off." Dean cast a smirk at Gordon. Dean thought he heard a snort from behind him but he didn't look.

Gordon didn't reply but he looked smug, and Dean felt cold at that thought. Gordon knew what was going to happen next and Dean didn't. Dean had no advantages in this situation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

There was a last instant of sunlight; then the wall of the storm towered over them. The world went grey, the heat left as though it was had just been part of a bizarre dream, Deans boots were now damp with snow. The air was cold and still, before them the ground became unstable ice, if he looked to his right and squinted Dean could make out icebergs. Yet if he looked behind him, the desert was only a few yards away.

"What the hell…?" Dean murmured under his breath, crossing his arms, trying to conserve his rapidly fading heat.

For once, Gordon was too busy to explain, talking to the Behemoth and giving orders but someone else was listening.

"It's different from home, isn't it?" Dean pointed his attention to his 'bodyguard', she was a small girl, her hair a stark red that made it hard to distinguish her skin from the snow. The way she looked at Gordon Dean figured she liked Gordy just as much as he did. Her only orders were not to leave him.

"You could say that." He replied, she seemed normal enough, the only sign she wasn't completely human were her hands. She had huge, bone-like nails projecting from her knuckles. It was kinda freaky but also reminded him of Wolverine, only the most bad-ass mother fucker of all the X-men.

"I don't feel the difference anymore." She considered him, as if examining every goosebump that had risen, the slight shiver in his stature. She, on the other hand, was wearing a single sheet of brown cloth and she might as well have been back in the desert.

"Lucky you." Dean rolled his eyes, biting his lip as his whole body quivered.

She was quiet for a moment, absorbed in her own thoughts and Dean was about to turn around when she spoke again. "I used to collect souls like you. Men who had killed so many in the name of something or other, before the Reaper came, I would have you. You all tasted so good too, bitter and deep and soft all at the same time. There used to be so many of you." The girl looked at him but her eyes were devoid of any actual emotion. She was just saying words. Her gaze flickered back to Gordon and Dean followed it. Gordon was walking over.

"Having a nice chat?" Gordon lifted his eyebrows.

"Yeah, talking about our favourite kinds of pie."

"With a monster? Thought that was below you." Gordon sniffed, closing his eyes briefly. "My favourite pie is Dean Winchester."

"Do you have more commands?" The girl cut in, Dean was grateful, his hands may be tied up but he could still kick ass if he were pushed. Or at least try.

Gordon looked up at her, as if he'd forgotten she existed.

"Oh, yeah. I'm tying Dean-o up with you and Rex. You'll need to probe the ground ahead as usual to check for crevasses. Don't let him go, and don't let him freeze to death. Wouldn't want our customers to complain." Gordon smirked at him, but he looked disgruntled.

"You and Behemoth seem close." Dean implied smoothly but the fiery hate Gordon aimed at him told Dean he wasn't hitting completely off the pitch.

Dean couldn't help but guffaw, consequently earning him a punch to the stomach. He fell to the floor, winded, but he felt nothing but victory as Gordon stood over him. Gordon grinded his teeth then walked away.

"That was a stupid thing to say." Red said, staring down at him.

Dean chuckled painfully, picking himself up. "Totally worth it."

"Come here." Dean didn't exactly feel inclined to do as she said but she didn't give him a chance, untying his hands, and fastening the rope around his waist instead, and then around hers, tightly.

"Where do you get rope from anyway?" Dean watched her struggle, as her nails got in the way.

"The Swamp has everything we need." She said.

"I take it that's where we're going?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Red finished knotting the ropes together.

"You don't say much, do you?" Maybe he just missed human contact but it was good to talk with her. Apparently Red didn't feel the same way.

"Please stop." Red said steadily, not looking at him.

Dean nodded; he shouldn't want to talk to a monster anyway. He should be using every attempt to get away, he shouldn't wait for her to tie him up, he should run even if he only got a few feet before they had him again. Sam must be rubbing off on him.

He grimaced, thinking of Sam wasn't good. He felt his chest constrict at the idea of his brother being alone, having no idea what had happened to him and Cas; having to go on without them. He would die here and Sam wouldn't know.

He took a deep breath, squeezing his thumb into his palm until it hurt. No matter how it felt, he couldn't give up. He had a brother relying on him, and another to rescue.

"Who's Rex?" Red lifted her head and pointed to where a pack of something were lying over each other. At her signal, a head lifted and the creature that had tied Dean up back at the cave stood up and made its way over to them. Beaky.

"You've got to be kidding; he's more likely to fall over than we are."

"He is strong." Rex loped over to her, pausing by Red as she tenderly patted the creatures head. She wrapped the last bit of rope around his thin waist and they were ready.

Red regarded him for a moment then seemed to come to a decision. "It's going to get a lot worse. Whatever happens, don't lose hope."

Dean frowned, "why do you even care?"

Red shook her head, and they stood in silence, waiting for when they'd have to face the storm.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Red was right. It did get worse.

The storm was loud, a constant grinding above their heads, the lightning surrounded them now, striking the ground around them, making Dean stumble on the already shaky ground. The air was filled with flying ice, ripping at Dean's eyes and clogging his nose. If it wasn't for Rex's wings blocking a good deal of the wind, he would have frozen to death hours ago.

Purgatory sucked.

He took a clumsy step forward and tripped, landing face flat in the snow. He convulsed from the shock of the cold but grew numb quickly, he pushed himself up. His arm gave way, and he almost fell back down but he was working on autopilot. He shakily stood, he shouldn't be alive still. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten; he was in Arctic conditions wearing jeans and a leather jacket, his shoulder was beyond the help of natural healing from all the times Gordon had drank from him.

He looked at Red, but she was looking up, her face illuminated so it matched her hair. He followed her gaze, and flinched as he was blinded.

He closed his eyes as the world turned crimson.

A bulldozer smashed into him.

Pain rippled down his side as he collided with the ice.

The ground lurched and his skin tingled where fingers dug into him.

Dean suddenly remembered that he needed to breathe.

"Fuck my life!" He wheezed, this time he was gonna need a moment before he could stand up. He felt like jelly. He should have died. That lightning was aimed straight at him. There was something heavy on him. It was kinda nice; warm, solid.

"Dean." A deep, raspy voice. It sounded concerned, that was nice.

"Dean, can you stand up?" The weight lifted from him, bringing back the cold and Dean grimaced, blinking.

A blurry, brown trenchcoat. White overalls. Powerful blue eyes.

Dean laughed slightly hysterically, his eyes tearing up. "Cas?"

"Why are you laughing, Dean?" His angel's head tilted to the side and Dean could barely breathe, didn't want to in case he disappeared, in case this was some weird hallucination before he died or was woken up.

"You're cold." And Dean could only watch as Cas took off his trenchcoat, easily holding Dean up as he wrapped the toasty coat around his shoulders. And Dean could have melted, could quite happily never have moved again.

"Dean. We need to get moving. Can you do that?" Cas was kneeling now, holding onto Dean's arm, and Dean nodded. They needed to get out of here.

"Cas, how did you find me?" He croaked, his voice was raw. He found himself relying mostly on Cas to pull him up, he hadn't realized how tired he was.

"I felt you." Cas said as if it were obvious, his hair was churned up and his hands still held tightly onto Dean as if he thought he would fall without him. Dean grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, his shoulders sagging as he found purchase. He was here.

"Okay. Let's just go." Cas nodded, falling into step beside Dean, his arm around his waist. Dean felt he should protest, walk for himself, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

Neither Red nor Rex said anything. Dean couldn't see the rest of the group anymore.

"I thought you had gone." Dean murmured, inhaling the scent of the trenchcoat. It smelled clean but also musky, warm.

"I wouldn't leave you, I can't." Cas sighed, and Dean felt overwhelmed. He stumbled again but Cas held him up, slowing the pace slightly.

"Why do you stay?" Dean didn't understand, why had Cas bothered coming back?

"I have no choice in the matter."

"I'm not stopping you. You can leave if you want." Dean didn't have the strength to push him away but Cas should know he was always free to leave, to live his own life.

"I don't want to leave, Dean. There is nowhere else I'd rather be." Cas' warm breath tickled his neck and Dean leaned into it. Cas held him more firmly and Dean had never felt more safe, trapped beneath a storm, captive by monsters, in Purgatory.

They walked like that for an indefinable amount of time, the ice crunched beneath their feet, the wind whipped at their bodies. The storm felt quieter, churning less relentlessly, as if appreciating the two man army that chiselled through.

It still sucked, but he was okay.

Rex cried out.

Dean banged his head as he hit the ice, sliding down, being pulled. He looked up, his vision dizzy as he screamed, called out the only word he knew.

"Cas!"

A hand grabbed his shirt. The rope pulled taut on his stomach and he winced.

"Hold on!" Cas shouted desperately, pulling at Dean's shirt but he was weaker. His face creased as he struggled to pull Dean up and he took another step back. Dean could only watch.

He saw it happen.

The ice splintered.

Cas' face turned from desperate to shock to _Dean_ in one second.

He stumbled another step back, dragging Dean with him.

The cracks followed him. Cas' eyes widened, not leaving Deans.

"De-" His scream was stolen away as his hand left Dean's shirt, the ice crumbled to reveal nothing, white fell away to black. And Cas was all white.

Dean didn't think, just reacted. He grabbed his hand, his arm muscles tearing as Cas' weight wrenched at him but his body wouldn't let go. Couldn't.

"Cas." Dean's voice was strangled, couldn't let go.

"D-Dean." Cas' voice was trembling, he was terrified.

"I'm gonna pull you out. Hold on, okay?" Except Dean knew. The ice was cracking beneath him. Much longer and they'd both fall.

Cas knew it too.

"Dean-"

"Don't you dare."

"But-"  
"If you let go, goddamnit. I will-"

Cas smiled, "don't blaspheme, Dean."

"Cas."

His fingers were slipping.

"Cas! Hold on!" Dean tried to get his other arm out but it was trapped beneath him.

"Don't lose hope." Cas said, his blue eyes staring right into Dean, like they always had, like they could see his soul and god damn this.

"Wait!" But it was too late, Cas' palm slid past Deans.

White flared against black. There was no thud, no last cry. Silence consumed them. Black spread, till there was no white.

Deans arm hurt, he could still feel Cas' weight on him. Still feel the warmth of his trenchcoat. The roughness of his hands. How easily they had slipped through his.

Dean didn't move. The ice held him. Dean didn't care if it did or not.

He stayed there, waiting for the moment he would see white.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"What's wrong with him?" Gordon growled, carefully stepping over to Dean. The ice was unstable, breaking away around this region.

"Rex, come here, move him up!" Gordon shouted, he didn't want to risk getting too close. It was a miracle Dean had lasted so long. He scowled; Dean would be staying closer to Gordon after this. He was slowing them down, most likely on purpose.

Rex looked between Dean and Gordon, he chose correctly. Slowly he moved from where he stood beside Dean and pulled the rope taut, very slowly he strained against it. Dean moved an inch.

"Dean, if you don't start cooperating, you may not make it in one piece." Gordon gnashed his teeth together; the other monsters were watching him. Always waiting for weakness, but he'd already shown them he was not to be messed with.

Dean didn't look up. He was lost.

Gordon sighed, looking up at the sky. The black clouds swirled above them, flickering with red shadows. The first time he'd crossed this path, he had seen himself, the Hunter he had been.

He had fought with him until he'd ripped his throat out and only then had the path cleared, the snow melted into green. Whatever Dean was going through, they wouldn't make it out of here until he had won.

Unless he had already lost.

"Rex, pick him up. We don't have time for this." Gordon ordered.

Dean dragged limply as Rex wrapped his gangly arms around his waist and pulled him up. Gordon bit his lip, if Dean couldn't overcome this, they could be trapped here forever. They had moved a few steps forward when Dean stirred, realized he was moving.

"No! No!" Dean grabbed at Rex, his feet trying to lift him but he wasn't strong enough. "We can't go!"

Rex ignored him and suddenly Gordon noticed the torn rope hanging at Dean's waist. He looked around, back to Rex.

"Where's Sophie?" But Rex wouldn't answer, he only looked down.

"He'll come back. We can't go." Dean was still shouting though his voice was scratchy, he kept trying to turn in Rex's grasp but Rex was strong, and Dean was weak. Gordon shook his head, Sophie was dead – or as good as, the Storm didn't let go of its captives - and Dean thought it was some friend of his. Probably his brother. Gordon had seen Dean when his brother was supposedly dead or about to be. But he had to overcome it or be made to.

"Dean, he's not coming back. You should be glad. He got away, doesn't have to stay in this rat-hole."

"No." Dean just closed his eyes; he could still feel the warmth of the trenchcoat, the smell of Cas choked him. _I killed my best friend. _

"You're an idiot, boy." Dean fell at Gordon's feet as he slid from Rex's grip.

"Just end it now. Kill me now." And why not? Why the fuck not? There was nothing else. He was tired, done, he'd gone through the motions and it had gotten him this far. He couldn't take anymore. It was one thing to lose all of his family and friends, but he had managed to do it numerous times. There was no-one left. Sam would find the life he deserved back home. And Dean would finally escape.

"And why the hell would I do that?" Dean felt nothing as Gordon squatted to his level.

"You know what, Dean? You're a selfish motherfucker."

He started, not expecting that reaction from Gordon.

"He saved your unworthy ass. He fell so that you could live, and how do you repay him? You ask me to kill you? That, that is worse than anything I could do. You will live, Dean. You will live and more, to repay your debt. Don't let him die for nothing." Gordon grabbed his chin, jutting his head so he could look at him straight in the eyes.

"Do you hear me, Winchester?"

Dean grimaced, hating the truth he heard in Gordon's voice. Hating himself. Cas had died for his unworthy ass. What a laugh. He always was a stupid idiot.

"I'll live long enough to kick your ass, Gordy." Dean finally answered.

"That's the spirit, my boy! Now, stand up." Gordon stood himself, watching with pride as Dean gathered the last reserves of whatever he had left and pulled himself up. He would remake this man, tear up the shrivelled shell of a man he had become and build him back into the proud Hunter. And then watch him tumble from the tallest height.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

The cold bit into his skin, sinking into him and digging right down into his bones. Each step was another second forgotten. The world was white, worthless, pointless.

The only thing that kept him moving was Rex. The stupid creature wouldn't stop pulling at him, wouldn't let him stop. When he did, Rex kept going, dragging him behind him. The chafing on his skin had eventually forced Dean to walk but the pain had given him something to concentrate on. Now he could feel too much. Emptiness was spreading out from the hole in his chest, consuming him. Reminding him too much of the man he had been trying to escape from.

"_You're already dead on the inside." _Famine had told him that two years ago, never had he been so wrong. He was everything but dead, death would be a release, peace after all of the loss, anguish and suffering that he had to deal with. He'd seen his family die too often, tried to save them again and again just for them to be stolen from his grip.

"_Don't lose hope."_

"Cas." A single tear slipped, he hadn't been able to wait for him. Gordon had ordered Rex to pick him up, he had been dragged away. His only motive to move was that damn voice in his head. The one that told him Cas would never forgive him, Sam neither for that matter, if he gave up. He wanted to tell them to screw themselves, what did he matter, why should he care? His body ached, his mind could barely function, and he had nowhere to go.

But Gordon had been right, the bastard. He hadn't earned his end yet, might as well draw out the pain.

"_You don't think you deserve to be saved?" _Cas asked him, his head tilted, his expression genuinely confused. Dean's hands twisted into fists.

"No. What is there to save? I am done. I have tried so hard, I even tried to be normal but I threw that away. I can't do anything but this, Cas, and I don't want to do this. What kind of life is that?" Dean murmured to the air, the grey mist suffocating him.

"I know you, Dean. Hunting is what you've always done, not because you kill monsters, but because you save people and you do. Everyday. Families get to be safe and live apple pie lives because of you and your brother. You are a hero, the righteous man. If you give up, what do you expect of me?" Cas forced him to stop, and Dean noticed how frayed his coat was, he was caked with mud and blood. His eyes had large shadows under them and he looked just as tired as Dean felt. He looked so real, Dean struggled to keep his composure, but it wasn't Cas. Cas was gone.

"You'll be alright, Cas." Dean tried to crack a smile but he couldn't force it.

Cas stared at him. "You need to start thinking about yourself now, Dean. Take care of yourself."

Dean shook his head, staring down into those clear, blue depths. "I don't know how."

"Try." Cas whispered, his voice turning into the harsh undertone of the wind and his white hospital clothes moulding into the snow.

Dean stumbled forward again, the rope cutting into his sore skin. He couldn't see ahead anymore, couldn't see Rex or Gordon. He just had to keep walking. Find something.

The ice is thinner; his movements are slower as he checks the ground for weaknesses. He can hear the soft swish of water nearby. The crack and rumble of ice breaking away.

"So much weighs on you." Sam sighed, his warmth radiating against Deans arm. He's wearing a red plaid shirt with worn jeans and he looks ridiculous walking in this place, probably how Dean looks.

"Tell me about it, I'm going mad, Sammy." Dean rolled his eyes; his company was so poor that he was resorting to imaginary friends?

"You're not the only one though, I've been there too. I lost mum, Jess, dad, Ellen, Jo, Cas, Bobby. I went to Hell for more than a year with Lucifer as my personal knife handler. I may have been messed up in the head for a while but I'm getting better. Thanks to you." Sam looked at him, with those stupid doleful eyes, and it wasn't fair. Dean was the big brother, he was supposed to look out for Sam, it was his job.

"Cas helped too."

"Who found Cas, Dean? Who brought him back and told him that it was okay? That he was wanted?" Sam near shouted, staring at Dean like he had the mental age of an 11 year old. He wasn't that bad.

"Okay, I get it. I… just-"

"When you get back, I'm gonna get you your favourite burger and beer and we'll sit down and watch some crappy TV and we'll argue about why Doctor Sexy is sexy." Sam smiled, his large paw of a hand landing on Deans shoulder. "I'm tired too, Dean. That doesn't mean there's nothing to look forward to."

Dean nodded, this time it didn't feel so bad when he faded away. The rope hurt less, tugging less violently, or maybe he was just keeping up better. His legs felt firmer, the ice felt less slippy. He even thought he glimpsed a flicker of green amidst the white. He imagined getting back home, collapsing on a proper sofa that sank and enveloped him when he sat on it, putting the TV on and just letting the silly drama play out. He saw Cas hand him a piece of homemade pie, made exact to the recipe, and Sam moan about how awful the plot is. He knew in the back of his mind that he would still have to hunt the monsters and kill the leviathans and clear up the rest of the mess but he would enjoy some moments. He would live for those moments.

"I'm proud of you, son." Dean spun, still half caught in his reverie. He blinked as John Winchester smiled at him.

"Dad…" Deans eyes widened, he didn't know what to say.

"Keep moving, Dean, don't make my mistakes. Live for yourself too. Enjoy everything, no matter how brief."

"What about you?"  
"Get moving now, son! You hear me?" John saluted him and Dean did what he did best. He saluted him back, and his legs started pulling him forward again.

Dean turned his back on his dad, and when he looked back again, John was gone.

"Goodbye, dad."

Dean closed his eyes, and he felt the rope slacken and he kept walking.

"Gonna have me some pie."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The snow was melting, his shoes were soggy and cold with it, squelching as he trudged through what was left of the muddy ice. The storm was passing, the sky was returning to its cream hue; only tendrils of ugly, purple smoke followed him now and ahead there was green. The colour felt overwhelmingly calm, it wasn't a stark white or a hungry purple or a blood red. It was warm, simple, it wasn't threatening but it wasn't nothing either. He breathed it in, his body ached but it wasn't scarred and frostbitten like it should be, he felt… he smiled at himself, reborn. Like he'd been given a 122nd chance.

Beside him, Rex had slowed down, matching his pace.

"We got through it, boy." Dean clapped him on the back and Rex growled lowly but didn't attack, just watched him. Dean was starting to regret it when Rex bumped against him with his shoulder and Dean huffed a laugh.

They weren't so far now. There was a clearing of trees not far off, maybe he'd get to sit down, he couldn't remember the last time he had sat when it hadn't been after a fall or a slip on ice. He must have been walking for days non-stop.

"Hurry up! Stop straggling, we've lost too much time already!" Gordon shouted from the front of the group and Rex gently loped forward, urging Dean to step up the pace with a look back. He was just able to start jogging when he felt a stabbing pain in his back.

He gasped, falling forward.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't feel his legs as he fell to his knees. His vision swam before his eyes, he tried to reach out and grab something.

"Dean!" His name. Screamed out like it was powerful enough to stop this.

He took another breath, something that didn't feel possible. He looked up. And saw himself.

On his next breath, blood sprayed from his mouth.

The other Dean smirked, looking down on him like he was another kill. A monster.

"Look what I caught, Sammy! It almost makes me want to go veggie." Dean spluttered, losing his will, feeling the edges blur.

"Ew, just kill it already." A younger Sam frowned at him, holding a hand in front of his mouth as though he's going to throw up. Other Dean laughed, nudging Sam with an elbow.

"Pussy! Nah, I'm gonna have some fun." And Dean almost stops breathing as he watches his eyes turn black, his mouth turn into a vicious smile.

"No…" He pathetically tries to get away but the other Dean is stronger, pulling him up and propping him on a rack. That Dean clasps his wrists and ankles to the metal, admiring his new specimen.

"I wonder what hurts the most. Will it be salt, silver, or should we try something different today?" Other Dean mused, turning to a table of instruments that Dean tries not to look at. But he doesn't have to, he knows every tool like he knows the toolbox for his car. He's cherished each, kept them clean, kept some purposefully dirty.

"I saw where you were going. Looked nice, green and peaceful, maybe you'd have met a nice monster friend." Other Dean turned back to him, holding the demon knife. Dean just concentrated on breathing, it's not real, he never had that knife on his table.

"Do you really think you deserve 'nice' after everything you've done?" Other Dean eyes the knife, sliding it over Dean's shirt, tearing through it.

"Yes." Dean snarled, he knows what he has to do. He doesn't have to convince Cas, Sam or his dad he deserves to be saved. He has to convince himself.

"Really?" Other Dean's voice is light, mocking, as if addressing a naïve child. Dean shivers as the cold knife traces around his nipple. Other Dean chuckles and then the knife is plunging, deep into his heart. Dean arches back, letting the pain consume him, he can't breathe, he can't move. A tear slides down his cheek. But that isn't the worst. He can hear the wound sparking.

"Pretty colours… hey, that only happens when I put it in demons." Other Dean remarked, then slowly pulled the knife out. Dean sagged as it left him; his blood pooled onto the floor, the hole in his chest is blackened and charred.

"It wasn't my fault." He breathed, his eyes closed.

"Wasn't your fault? Our father lasted 100 years, we lasted 30. We broke. And then you know what we did? We did what we do best. We destroyed it all." Dean felt another tear fall, watched it mingle in his blood. In the red, he saw himself again.

"We were greedy; Alistair had never found such a good pupil, we were so willing. Do you remember, Dean?" Other Dean whispered, leaning in closer "Sometimes the knives weren't enough," he tried to shut his eyes but the images kept playing, "sometimes we would just use our bare hands."

"That's over now." Dean struggled to fight back; his own words seemed so insignificant as he watched himself rip a man apart.

"Yes, yes! You were saved by an angel of the Lord!" Dean laughed deeply, in a way he hadn't laughed in years. Dean shuddered, it felt so wrong.

"And he made you human again, remade your body and became your guardian. God had a mission for you, and you had a new name, the Righteous Man." Dean was still shaking with laughter, he watched as he wiped away tears.

"Ah, man. It really doesn't get better than that. The Righteous Man, my ass. And then it turns out you're just needed to be a meatsuit for some dickhead who's going to use your body to save the world, all the while killing billions of innocent people. But that's just our life." Dean shook his head, fingering the pit in his chest.

"And then, being the big brother you are, you let your brother take the burden. Let him throw himself down the hole." His fingers slid, squeezing down right into the core of him. Dean screamed, his muscles burning as he strains to free them.

"There was nothing else." He shrieks, desperately holding onto the last strings of sanity he has left. Holding onto the frays of hope he has left.

The other Dean paused, looking up at him.

"...That's true." His eyes narrowed, and Dean sighed, feeling relief wash through him. It had to stop now.

"You could have stopped Cas though." Dean shook his head.

"No. No, I couldn't."

"Yes, he needed you! You let him down and then you couldn't stop him when you needed to."

"He made his choices." Dean lifted his head, leaning it back against the rack. "You try stopping a bloody God."

"And you just think that you should be forgiven now?" The other Dean looked up at him, but his voice was less scathing. Dean shut his eyes and then did the impossible. He stepped off the rack.

He didn't move far, just rested against the cool metal, the blood soaking his jeans.

"Yes." Dean pressed his blood stained hand against the hole in his chest. "Forgive me."

…

"Dean!" Dean shuddered, his lungs filling with refreshing, cool air, he felt warm. His jeans were wet with water.

He blinked, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at Gordon holding him up by his shirt.

"Aw, I didn't know you cared." He grinned.

"Should have known you were faking. Seems you're just an attention whore, Dean-o." Gordon roughly pushed back on his feet, dragging Dean up with him.

Dean started as he felt the spiky brush of grass against his knee through the hole in his jeans. He glanced round and the snow was gone, like it had just been a dream. The sky was white, no sign of a storm.

"Where did it go?"

"Wherever you put it. I have to say, Dean-o, I was worried you weren't going to get over this one but you proved me wrong." Gordon hit him on the shoulder, and Dean winced but Gordon either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Just in time too, the swamp should be low right now. Best time to cross."

Dean glowered, "the good news just doesn't stop coming."

"You're telling me." Gordon sucked in a breath, his face light with relief but Dean just ignored him. It was time he started thinking properly about escape.


	9. Plan

Time was fragmented, split into shards of a picture that wasn't all there. The black, yawning gaps were forgotten and so unimportant. Maybe Dean lost more blood, gained a bruise or was suddenly standing in a bog and couldn't remember how he'd come to be there. He vaguely acknowledged it; time was messed up, "on some freaky shit" as he might say. Whatever.

He only had to keep note of one thing. Gordon and the Behemoth. Okay. Two things.

He'd been walking with his arm holding his upper body up, his back bent as if he could fall over at any moment, barely responding to Gordon when he came over. He kept his eyes half closed, his breathing uneven and watched as Gordon grew more alarmed. Who knew what effects Purgatory could have on a human, after all?

By the third night, Dean approximated (days seemed to vary in length, from infinity to hours and the light was a steady white that only occasionally dimmed to a dismal grey), Gordon finally ordered a stop at a lake, letting him rest and drink. While the water felt good, a cool, refreshing taste against his throat even if earthy, it wasn't needed. He didn't seem to need to drink, eat or sleep to survive but the less Gordon knew the better. He downed the water gratefully, sucking it from his fingers.

By the fourth day, Gordon made Rex carry him for a few hours of the day. Dean leaned on Rex completely, as if every movement may be his last. Rex let him, and didn't seem disgruntled when Dean lay flat on the creatures back, his arms dangling into the air, his pose having less elegance than a corpse. It was that night, Dean explicitly remembered Gordon not drinking from him, and instead Gordon having to feed him meat one of the other Suckers had caught. Dean considered it a victory, especially when Gordon allowed him to 'sleep' by him and not with Rex and the other monsters. Something Dean truly was grateful for, most of the time he felt they were only a sniff away from ripping his throat out for themselves. In fact, he was pretty sure if Rex didn't guard him like his own personal pup then that scenario would have played out already.

He 'slept' in a tight ball, shivering just enough to look frail but still worth the effort, or so he hoped. It was enough. Gordon talked all night and Dean was a good listener.

xxxxxxxxx

"Okaay…." John murmured, what was he going to say next? That Moriarty was actually Satan? That taking a piss would be dangerous from now on? He was actually reminiscing the simplicity of chasing murderers down alley ways and realizing the taxi driver may want more than just to take you home.

"Did Moriarty have any connections?" Sam asked, his tone becoming more formal, John imagined he did this a lot, probably in a suit, with a fake badge.

Sherlock snorted, making John jolt, wondering if Sherlock really can read minds before Sherlock answered.

"Most likely everyone had a connection with him, he revealed to me just a tiny portion of his 'enterprise', just enough to show me he's got a finger in every pie, so to speak."

"Like Roman Enterprises?"

"Maybe." John nodded, knowing Sherlock wouldn't want to say such a vague answer. He would want the facts, the cold hard proof with logical links, which was why John wasn't surprised when Sherlock jumped over the back of the sofa and started manhandling the telly.

Sam frowned but held his tongue; the Doctor just seemed to be binge drinking tea. An impressive skill.

"God damn it! Doesn't anything work around here?" Sherlock hit the telly, glaring at Sam as if he's to blame.

"I don't exactly use this base permanently, like you said, maybe the Doc has a setting for that as well." Sam half-heartedly joked, of course, the expression soon turned into the biggest 'bitch face' John had seen when the Doctor got the screwdriver out, twisted it a few times, gave it a hearty shake and pointed it at the TV screen.

'Seriously…?" Sam mumbled as the TV lit up, static and all.

"I have to get me one of those." John approved, taking a gulp of tea, imagining the beauty of not having to worry about electrocution by self-fixing.

The Doctor, however, shook his head, his expression deadly serious. "Say goodbye to your social life and loved ones, if you do. Apparently I missed out on the best of my teenage years making this."

"Something tells me you weren't that upset, Doc." Sam said, eyeing the telly now Sherlock had turned to CNN.

"_Flights are being cancelled right across the states, no-one is allowed to leave the country, the Icelandic volcano is active again and this time the ash cloud is warned of being larger and more volatile. There are concerns this is only the beginning, internal flights may also be at risk and travel by plane may not be possible for up to a week, says the chief airline."  
_

"They're already caging us in." Sam whispered, his thoughts blurring into panic. What could he do against this?

"_There are also concerns an outbreak of avian flu has spread in Texas, anyone showing symptoms is advised to go to hospital immediately. Meanwhile Texas is being quarantined." _

"He's not taking his time." John said, he was already taking over a whole state. His hand reached to cover his mouth as the truth of what was happening dawned on him. "This is crazy."

"No. This is organised and quiet. He has the power of Hell at his hands, he could unleash demons and chaos but he's…" Sherlock frowned at the screen, for the first time struggling for words, "he's going slowly, trying not to alert the public too much."

"Roman did the same thing; they had, like, a rule system and anyone who alerted the papers was immediately bibbed." Sam said, he met blank stares at the term 'bibbed'.

"Um – you know, he made them eat themselves."

The Doctor looked sick, putting down his tea as if it might have been poisoned with his own bodily fluids. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow.

"Effective." He stated.

"Back to the point, you're saying he doesn't want the public to know so isn't that exactly what we should do?" John tried.

"Yes, we should tell the country that monsters have escaped from Purgatory and it's all a conspiracy to eat us like cattle because that doesn't sound crazy." Sam sighed; he'd had plenty of experience telling ordinary people about monsters.

"Let's not forget that scared people can be just as dangerous as the monsters. They may make it harder for us." The Doctor cut in, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"What then?" John glanced back at the telly screen, the whole world was at risk and none of them had a clue. It was down to them. The four of them.

"We find Moriarty. He's supposedly the one organising the whole thing. We kill him, at least postpone things." Sherlock's eyes were sharp, his body lithe as he jumped to his feet.

"That's what we did last time, didn't take them long to find a new 'head'." Sam said, doubt lining his words.

"Last time, there were just three of you." Sherlock challenged.

"So, one more person is gonna change things?" Sam said, not bothering to point out he had Meg helping out last time too.

"Nope, but 50 more, maybe. Hunters, right? You start getting out your contacts, make phone calls, alert them, and tell them how to stall them. Meanwhile, we find Moriarty. We kill him and release the King of Hell." The words spilled from Sherlock as if he could barely keep up with his thoughts and Sam found himself nodding along, it was a plan, somewhere to start.

"Sounds good."

"I'm going to keep looking for your brother too." The Doctor nodded in Sam's direction. Sam smiled gratefully, glad that the Doc hadn't forgotten him.

"Let's get a move on then, shall we?" John pushed off the couch, trying not to think too much about how little difference they could really make. Surely if Sam was on good terms with Hunters, they'd have helped him last time, and how easy was it going to be to find Moriarty, and killing him? Moriarty had struck him as someone unafraid of death, as though it couldn't touch him.

"Where are you going to go?" Sam asked, already scrolling down a list of contacts on his phone. John didn't like the way Sam bit his lip doubtfully as he eyed the names.

"Back to Sucrocorp." Sherlock smirked, enjoying the shock that rang in Sam's eyes.

"You think that's a good idea?"

"The best one. Moriarty will have gone by now, we just need to see if he left any clues… he knows I'm still alive, and he's very fond of games." Sherlock said, his confident tone suggesting there was no point debating the point, not that anyone was given a chance, Sherlock was already walking away, heading to the TARDIS. The Doctor frowned, grabbing one more biscuit, mumbling a good luck in Sams general direction before following after him hurriedly.

John felt awkward, left alone with the slightly intimidating, huge American with a fetish for weapons but he needed one last thing.

"Uh, Sam, is it possible to borrow a, um-" John's sentence broke down as he realized what he was saying.

"A gun?" Sam finished for him, he actually seemed pretty happy he'd asked. "Yeah, makes sense. You should be prepared for anything, though don't tell the Doc, he might not let you in, but I'll get you sorted."

Sam pulled himself up from his chair and strolled into the kitchen, after a silent inner debate, John followed.

They walked through the kitchen and into a room laid out with campbeds and blankets. Only one had been used. The rest were now laden with an arsenal of weapons, enough to keep a small army content.

"Pssh, how do you get away with this stuff?" John had never seen such a large array of guns and he was an army doctor for god's sake, and it wasn't only guns, there were plenty of knives, shurikens, machetes and diesel containers full of who knows what.

"When you work in my profession, you wonder how we get away with anything. We're basically mass murderers," Sam shook his head, not for the first time, wondering about how freaking weird his life was. "But good ones." He quickly added when he saw John's expression.

"Good mass murderers… that's a first." John murmured, watching carefully as Sam picked a selection of weapons. A silver knife, a relatively small gun with some extra ammo, a syringe of what looked like blood and a bottle of questionable liquid.

"The blood is to use if you come across any vampires, we've come across a lot of them recently, they were holding back till we killed Dick but I don't know if they'll continue now he's gone." Sam ignored John's stutter at the word 'vampire', carrying on, "the bottle contains Borax. See someone suspicious, throw it at them and run." John nodded, putting the weapons in various pockets.

"And one last thing," Sam handed him a whiskey flask, "that has holy water in it, see the King of Hell or his hell hounds, douse them and run."

"So basically, run." John nodded, his heart jumping nervously at the weight of the added weapons. This was really happening. He opened up the gun chamber, feeling more confident as he handled the smooth metal. He closed it back up, popping it into his jacket.

"Yep, it's a lot to handle but as far as I can tell the Doc and Sherlock aren't really fighters." Sam clapped him on the back. "Good luck."

John nodded, "thanks, Sam, same goes to you."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

"Come on, just tell me, what do you think?" The Doctor pleaded, twirling in his new coat, it was a heavy black thing that covered him down to his knees and looked three sizes too big. It was awful. John swore he'd only been gone a few minutes.

"I really don't care, Doctor, can we go? Look, John is back now." Sherlock sighed, looking dryly at the Doctor from his seat on the sofa.

"Oh, John! What do you think? Is it too much?" The Doctor grinned, and John almost felt bad for what he was about to say but it was for the greater good.

"Um, maybe just a bit. I liked what you had on before, Doc." The Doctor's smile slid.

"Not you too. Its Doc-tor. Two syllables, that's all. Like Sherlock but not." The Doctor shook his head, shedding his coat and throwing it across the floor. John tracked its progress; he didn't want to slip on the damn thing.

"What took you so long?" Sherlock muttered as he watched the Doctor type in their destination.

"I was just asking Sam how we could stall the leviathans if we came across any." John shrugged, walking up the stairs to join them.

"And?"

"He gave me a bottle of Borax, or something."

"Isn't that a cleaning product?" The Doctor asked, using his foot to press a far-off button. "I'm sure one of my companions had something with Borax in… she must have shown me once when joking about cleaning the place up…" The Doctor went quiet, and John noticed his face drop, his old age showing and then a second later it was gone, replaced by a jovial, enthusiastic smile.

"Do you have a lot of companions?" John asked, curious, also wanting to draw attention away from the Doctors pain.

"I used to, they move on though, they have to lead their own lives after all. What about you two? Is it just you guys adventuring or do you have a gang?" John cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck.

"Nope, just us."

"Don't need anyone else." Sherlock acknowledged, and John felt himself feeling kinda proud that Sherlock, with his weird high standards, thought John was all he needed.

"That's nice. You do make a wonderful couple." The Doctor glanced at them, beaming. John was about to stutter 'I'm NOT gay!' when without warning, the Doctor pulled a lever and the TARDIS jolted, and spun.

"Whoa there, girl. Calm down, sweetie." John vaguely heard the Doctor whispering sweet nothings to the machine as he jumped to grab hold of the rail; he kinda misjudged it though and landed on Sherlock's lap.

"Shit, Sherlock, I'm sorry!" He blurted out before instinctively grabbing hold of the end of the sofa, still half on Sherlock, as the TARDIS toppled, unfortunately it was in such a way that John was practically crushing Sherlock.

"John!" He heard Sherlock squawk from beneath him, he held his breath, hoping it would reduce his weight somewhat.

"Nearly there, gentlemen! I promise the ride will get smoother!" The Doctor half laughed, running against gravity as he leapt further up the console and swivelled a button, instantly the TARDIS righted itself and John pushed himself from Sherlock. He took deep breaths, eyeing Sherlock who looked ruffled and winded. Sherlock was concentrating on something else though, thankfully.

"I can feel it. We're travelling through space. I can feel it." Sherlock held tightly to the sofa, and he was right. Now the machine was less chaotic, he could feel the way it moved like it was weightless, pulling on him in all directions but not at all, like he imagined it was like being on Earth on a smaller scale. Spinning so fast, but being unaware.

The Doctor was watching them from the console, "it's amazing, isn't it?"

Sherlock didn't respond, just sinking in the feeling. John tentatively took a step off the sofa and though he wasn't completely steady, he revelled in the way he could move with some sort of control.

John could tell when they stopped.

"That's my girl." The Doctor patted the console, and then skipped to the door, beckoning John and Sherlock over.

"Ready, John?" The Doctor grimaced, and John could tell he was referring to the weapons he thought he'd hidden pretty inconspicuously. He nodded, his cheeks warming as he felt slightly shameful.

"Okay, we scout the place out and then we leave. Anything goes wrong, run back here." The Doctor commanded, his voice serious and then just as suddenly, his eyes glinted dangerously and he was flinging open the doors and striding out.

"Booyah!" The Doctor shouted, making John want to hit him but nothing happened. They'd landed in the corridor they'd seen Moriarty, it was empty.

"The room they were eating people." Sherlock pushed past, John followed after, the déjà vu making him feel he's being watched. He doesn't like this.

"Eating people?" The Doctor exclaimed from behind them, walking as if fear was something he'd defeated long ago.

"Er, yeah, turns out they don't just eat themselves." John said gruffly. The Doctor stayed quiet, John figured he was having mixed emotions about these monsters, being a pacifist and all.

"I can't hear anything." Sherlock called from up ahead.

"You did say they'd be gone by now." John mentioned.

"That was just a guess, Moriarty is unpredictable." Sherlock was pressed against the wall, and John remembered Sherlock's face when they'd looked into the room, it was the first time he'd seen him truly scared. He'd been horrified. Even now, he looked paler than normal.

The Doctor looked at John, sensing the difference in Sherlock, his natural confidence was draining.

"I'll have a look." The Doctor strode forward, John watched him as he stood beside Sherlock. He didn't push Sherlock; he knew he would want to pull himself together.

"Heh, not used to this." Sherlock mumbled as he looked at the ground.

"You mean people-eating monsters taking over the world? What about last Tuesday?" John rolled his eyes, smiling at the surreal idea.

"No, last Tuesday was when we were trying to stop people from being blown up." Sherlock smirked, and then chuckled, John joined in until they were both laughing, it wasn't the sanest laughter but it felt good to release the hysterics.

"There's nothing in here! It's empty, and there's definitely no sign of any people-eating activities." The Doctor shouted, John looked at Sherlock and offered a hand. Sherlock took it briefly before they were running to catch up.

The Doctor was right; the room was just a meeting room now. The chairs were in place, any blood had been cleared up, there were no tied up employees. John felt a twang of guilt at that; they had most likely been killed.

Sherlock glanced around, frowning. "He would have left something. A sign, a message, surely."

John shrugged, "Sam said it wasn't Moriarty anymore, maybe the new owner doesn't care."

"No, Moriarty is still in there." Sherlock remarked.

"Maybe he did leave a message." Sherlock turned, seeing the Doctor sniffing his fingers and then licking the wall.

"Um. Is that something you do a lot?" John's forehead lifted significantly.

The Doctor seemed caught by the question for a long moment, "uh, yes, actually. Big fan of walls, me, and doors, and… anything lickable."

"Sherlock, pass me your lighter." He impatiently shook his hand at Sherlock who reluctantly passed over his lighter, ignoring the judging looks John sent him.

"I thought you had quit."

"It's not as easy as that."

"Right, we'll save the world first, much easier."

"Shut up, you too! Seriously, it's like being stuck with an old, married couple!" John shut up abruptly, his ears feeling uncomfortably warm, Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing?" He asked instead.

"It's acid, or something. Not lemon, in fact, I have a feeling I know what it is but I really do not want to think about it." The Doctor grimaced, "but if I put the light up to it, I can just about make out what it says."

John and Sherlock watched as slowly the lighter turned the sickly yellow wallpaper to a burnt brown, revealing one sentence.

I will burn the heart out of you

"He obviously doesn't know me very well." Sherlock commented after a tense minute of silence.

"Everybody has a heart." The Doctor stood back, regarding Sherlock with a heavy gaze.

"Yeah, I keep mine back home in the cupboard." He smiled tightly; John meanwhile tried not to think of how rotten the smell would be when they got home, he would have to call .

"Sherlock-"

"Let's just go, it's a stupid message anyway." Sherlock smoothed back his hair, glaring at the Doctor.

"Okay, going, we'll just leave the creepy message where it is." The Doctor held his hands up in surrender, walking out, and John went with him after a last look at the words. He did not feel good at all about that promise, it was definitely time to leave.

"Oh, so there you are!" John spun round, feeling the Doctor do the same just behind him. A woman in a tight, office skirt suit was studying them, chewing a pen idly, her eyes landing curiously on the Doctor before smiling lewdly at John.

"Uh, yep, wrong building. Just needed the toilet, sorry!" John garbled out, retreating hastily, while trying to remember in which pocket what weapon was.

"I don't think so." The woman grinned, and John felt sick, his heart felt like it was going to fall out of his chest, he was going to die. She was walking after them casually yet she was catching up weirdly fast. Her hand reached for him, her mouth opening to reveal shark teeth, he panicked, unscrewing the lid of whatever he had in his hand, he threw it at her.

Water splashed in her mouth, she gurgled somewhat before John watched her whole body launch-

And then fall in a heap.

"Sherlock?" John hissed, his vocal chords still hiding in the back of his throat.

Sherlock stayed quiet, still holding the syringe in place in her neck.

"What is that?"

"Borax. I took some stuff from you when you fell on me; thought two people with weapons would be handier, may have swapped the blood for Borax when I saw what was happening." Sherlock said calmly, but he hadn't moved, still looking directly at the leviathan. That was when its neck started bubbling.

"I don't think it'll last long." John thought out loud, he didn't know where he was going with it but Sherlock looked up, his eyes wide, scared.

"You have to cut off its head."

"What, you're kidding me. I can't do that."

"He's right, Sherlock, let's just run now." The Doctor was pacing, his face pale.

"No. We need to know what Moriarty is doing. We take it back. Cut its head off, John, or… I will." Sherlock swallowed, his eyes directly on him. John shook his head but even so, he was bringing out the knife, it felt heavy in his hands but as he brought it against skin, it felt so easy. It slid so quickly.

"Oh, no. no. no." John whimpered, trying not to think about what he was doing, but the knife kept slipping through the soft flesh like it was butter. It wasn't butter though, it was a human neck.

"Quickly, John."

"I can't. Sherlock, I can't do this." John bit on his tongue, feeling pathetic but he couldn't. Suddenly he felt steady hands on his and the knife was falling all the way through, meeting resistance briefly before, with a sickening thud, the head fell away and the knife dropped from his grasp.

John closed his eyes, just trying to breathe.

"Doctor, get a bag now." Sherlock instructed, his voice deep, emotional. John took another deep breath, just watching the dark behind his eyelids. He heard the Doctor running, he wanted to run too.

"It's okay, John." John nodded, not wanting to move anything else in case he touched something that reminded him of what he just did.

They sat in silence until the Doctor came back, John heard the rustle as the head was put away.

"John, you have to open your eyes. Help me pick up the body." Sherlock ordered quietly, and John did as he was told for once. Feeling sick at the sight of black goo smothering a stunted neck, he bit his tongue as he felt bile rising. He grabbed under her arms, and Sherlock took the legs. The Doctor was silent, John could feel his disgust and anger simmering under his stony expression but he was too busy stopping himself from falling to his knees to really care.

They made it to the TARDIS; John suspected for a moment that the Doctor wouldn't let them in but he walked in and left the door open. Sherlock hurried in after, and while they dumped the body by the door, the Doctor started pulling levers, wasting no time.

John fell to the floor, barely noticing as he saw the Doctor run his hand down his face, leaning on the console as the engines started; Sherlock muttered something under his breath. John took five large breaths, feeling the TARDIS move beneath him, the rattle of guns sounded in the distance and he winced, hearing the screams around him, he was running, trying to get to the injured at the same time as he tried not to become one of them. He had a knife in his hand, he was decapitating a man's leg that was infected with gangrene but the man wouldn't feel a thing. He was drugged up. He was helping him; he'd live the rest of his life.

"I didn't help her. She's dead now." He mumbled, not meaning to speak out loud.

No-one responded. John let go of the memory, and steadied the lolling body.

"We're here." The Doctor's steady voice said. He opened the doors, gesturing very clearly they needed to leave.

Sherlock grabbed the legs, lifting the bag containing the head to put on her belly, and John took the arms again, feeling his shame mount as the Doctor watched them. He kept his eyes cast down.

"You're already back?" John heard Sam call from somewhere inside; it didn't feel like it had been quick, it felt like everything had changed.

"Sam, help us!" John called, feeling his arms trembling; he didn't know if it was from the weight or the emotional strain but he was going to drop her.

"I'm here… What? What happened?!" Sam exclaimed, replacing John at the head, or rather neck, and guiding the body through the living room and into an empty space of a room.  
"Grab a chair, John." Sam grunted, John brought the chair from the living room. The body was promptly dumped, Sherlock taking a step back closer to John, Sam picked up the bag.

"This is most likely what I think it is, isn't it? I told you to run if you came across anything and you come back with a leviathan body and detached head?" Sam seemed lost for words, but John surprisingly only sensed praise from the guy. Shocked admiration.

"We should have run. Killing like this isn't right." The Doctor growled from the doorway, John glanced up at him but he couldn't hold his gaze very long.

Sam's expression hardened. "This may be the difference between millions of people dying. We do what we have to. The woman was a monster anyway, that's black ooze right there, not the red blood you would expect. We kill monsters."

The Doctor shook his head, taking a step in, and John shivered, the room felt colder. The Doctor reminded him of an oncoming storm, from far off it looked fine, pretty harmless but suddenly it hit and you were running for your life, desperate to find shelter while the world is torn up around you.

"I know people who bleed blue. Who breathe water. I know creatures that live in perpetual darkness. I know people who have spikes on their skin and resemble cacti. And you know what? They're not monsters, they are people. What makes you think these are any different?" The Doctor snarled under his breath, his heated voice and dark eyes contrasting grimly with his red bow tie and the trousers that didn't reach his ankles.

"Because they're killing innocent people." John said, feeling calmer than before. He thought he was finally understanding something, this sort of pacifism only came from the worst kind of violence. War.

"Have you even talked to them?" The Doctor growled at him.

"Like you do?" The Doctor twisted as Sherlock studied him.

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough, and it hasn't taken me long to work the rest out. You have a big heart, Doctor, and you chose where your allegiances lied long ago. If it wasn't for you, I'm sure this world would have perished long ago. I bet you've done what we're doing right now hundreds of times before, putting innocent human lives first. Making whatever is against them the enemy and destroying it. You think you're that different to Sam, or any of us?" Sherlock's ice blue eyes flashed and the Doctor frowned.

"It's hard to remember why I do it when I see them commit acts like this." The Doctor's words were quieter, more resigned, the storm settling down to an overcast day. John cleared his throat awkwardly, his voice felt squashed, he wouldn't admit it but he had been intimidated by the Doctor's outburst.

"Well, maybe you'll remember when we finish with her and save some lives." Sam intoned harshly, leaving no time to dwell on the emotion. John was relieved, the sooner they got this over with, the better.

"What do you need?" John stood straighter, ready to take orders.

"First, how the hell did you take her down?" Sam eyed John and Sherlock, probably wondering if they'd suddenly admit to having magical powers.

"Easy. Swapped the blood in the syringe for Borax. Made sense." Sherlock shrugged. Sam snorted.

"Right, easy. How did you get close enough to give it a dose?"

"Me and the Doctor, err, distracted her." John filled in, if only that had actually been planned.

Sam whistled under his breath, "I'm impressed, guys. Well, if we're gonna make this happen then I'm gonna need to set up a drip of the stuff. Keep her dosed up." He glanced at the Doctor, "you wouldn't actually happen to be a doctor with actual doctor equipment, would you?" The Doctor snapped back to reality, his eyes focussing and his body going rigid instantaneously.

"Uh, well I can get some. What did you need?"

"A drip." Sam watched him carefully, but the Doctor just nodded, caught in his own thoughts.

"Sure, I'll get it right now." He spun round, his usual energy slowly coming back though it felt more forced.

"Be quick!" Sam called, and as an afterthought, "and safe!"

"Always am!" The Doctor called back, and they heard the TARDIS door slam shut.

"I really doubt that." Sherlock said under his breath as they heard the weird sonic sound of the TARDIS leaving.

"What do we do now?"

"Tie her to the chair. Keep that head far away and then wait, I suppose." Sam listed off like it was routine, walking to the room with the arsenal ready. Sherlock and John stayed near the door as Sam fetched rope, John felt smug as Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight. He was probably re-evaluating some deductions right now.

"How often do you do this?" Sherlock asked, his eyes running over each weapon.

"Um, depends really. Used to do a monster hunt almost weekly, without stopping, sometimes it takes a while to find a decent lead though. I did try and get out of it for a few years when I was younger," Sam grimaced, "but it didn't work out."

"The monsters came after you?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, looking up as he cut off a healthy length of rope. His face became earnest and almost child-like as he revealed a bit more of himself. "It isn't exactly an apple pie life."

"None of us have the apple pie life, Sam."

"Yeah, Afghanistan?" Sam smiled, John startled, glancing at Sherlock but he was gone. He looked behind him to see him heading towards the kitchen with the head-bag.

"Uh, yeah. How'd you know?"

"I saw you handle a gun and you seemed pretty relaxed with the weapons, though you don't strike me as a soldier, I don't think you're an assassin either though." Sam smiled warmly, humour infecting his tone.

"I was an army doctor." John walked back to the bare room, Sam in tow.

"Makes sense, what made you stop?" Sam curiously asked, starting to confidently wrap the rope around the limp body. John really couldn't stop thinking how surreal this whole thing was, how did a guy even get into this life?

"I was wounded; I got enteric fever and was promptly sent back. It was difficult to adjust back to civilian life but then I met Sherlock, so I didn't have to." John couldn't believe how much his life had changed in a year, he'd been worrying about his limp and the idea of living a boring, normal life for the rest of his years not so long ago and now he was going to attempt to save the world with a good mass murderer, a consulting detective and a time-travelling man.

"Heh, yeah, what does he even do for a living? Is he just the most annoying lawyer in the world or something?" Sam laughed, pulling the rope into complicated, tight knots that John imagined even the keenest ninja would struggle with, let alone a dead body.

"Consulting detective-"

"The only one in the world, not so much annoying as brilliant." Sherlock finished, stalking in, looking down at Sam.

"How modest of you." Sam smirked, standing up to admire his work.

"Just need the Doctor now." John murmured just as the distant wheezing of the TARDIS could be heard. "Speak of the devil, sounds like he's parking outside…"

"Go and get him, so we can get this over with." Sam said, gruffness returning as his thoughts returned to business.

"I'm on it."

Outside there was a drip. And nothing else.

The Doctor and his TARDIS were nowhere to be seen.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's gotten bigger." The Doctor dragged a hand across his mouth; there was a definite gap between the cracks now though he could still only make out darkness on the other side.

"You're scared." Amelia's clear voice stated from behind him. The Doctor turned, crouching to Amelia's height, and taking her face in his oversized hands. Her big, amber eyes stared at him, completely trusting and innocent.

"No, I'm not! What makes you think that?" He grinned at her; keeping up a daring bravado. She was such a brave little girl. She was completely alone, in a big house in the dark, with a scary crack in her wall.

"You left your machine outside. You would have just come straight to the room otherwise, right?" Amelia cocked her head, her chubby cheeks and the nightgown that was too big made her seem so childish, hiding the fact she was unusually sharp for her age. The Doctor knew what it was like to be much older than you looked though.

"Yes, I did… its unsettling. You're very brave, Amelia Pond, the bravest person I know."

She smiled, and stared at the floor before she seemed to come to a decision.

"I can hear things coming from it at night."

"Like what?"

Amelia shuddered under his grip and when she looked up her eyes were glistening. He couldn't help himself, both his hearts were crumbling under her tortured gaze and he drew her in for a crushing hug.

"Where are your parents, Amelia?" He held her against his shoulder.

"At work."

"And when was the last time they came home from work?" He murmured into her shoulder sadly. Amelia wasn't all she seemed. She was quiet.

"What do you hear?" The Doctor asked after a few minutes, knowing she wouldn't answer.

"Screams, of pain and regret. They cry all night." She sniffed, pressing into him.

"It's okay. Do you know what they are?" He rubbed her back; he couldn't bear to watch a weeping child. She nodded, and he leaned closer so she could whisper.

"Tell me."

"Angels."


	10. Shits going down

The chair creaked as the woman leant drunkenly on one side, even Sam felt uneasy looking at the state of her. Her skin had mostly melted away, revealing clotted black goo that oozed down her body. Her breath came out in harsh wheezes and her jaw was only barely kept together with fragile sinews of muscle. Her eyes were a wide poisoned red as if she had been crying, but apparently it was a side effect of having acid coursing through your veins. Sam had already been through the basics, monsters didn't give state secrets out for free.

_She's a monster._

Sam kept his face straight, not revealing how much he wanted to heave. He had to keep it together for the others; they weren't going to do this, they weren't up to it. It was down to him.

"Tell me, and this will be over." Sam growled, thinking of his brother as he did, trying to mimic how he acted. Dean was always the one who did the interrogating, Sam had obviously done his part and done it well when he had to but Dean was better at it. Sam tried not to think of why that was.

""I'm going to enjoy taking my time ripping each of you apart." She spat a fat glob of blood and muscle on the floor, there was a spreading mass of it beneath her feet, one Sam had been consciously avoiding looking at. Sam wondered if her regenerating powers meant the pain was eternal, that her nerve endings kept being rebuilt just to be burnt and shrivelled again. The awful thing was that he was able to empathise with that pain.

"Sure, enjoy that thought while it lasts, before that though maybe you'd just like to tell us where Moriarty has gone to." Sam hoarsely muttered, his hands clenched into shaking fists. He was running out of patience, he felt disgusting and she had yet to tell him anything useful, except how many things he could shove where the sun don't shine.

She laughed, well, he assumed she laughed; it was a different sort of wheeze anyhow.

"You're just ants to us, nothing you can do to save your little species," she swallowed, moaning. "Mm, I taste alright. Salsa would be good though."

Sam grit his teeth, she wasn't taking this seriously. He punched her in the face, her bones crunched under his hand and her jaw wobbled dangerously. His hand was covered in gore; he wiped it on her blazer.

"Someone needs anger management." She grinned grotesquely, "I bet you're worried about your brother, I wonder if he and his angel have been eaten yet. Can't be long, nothing as tasty as human."

"Shut up!" Sam growled, his hand itching for the machete blade. "You have no reason to be loyal, tell me where Moriarty is and both our misery can end."

"Have you checked your pocket? When I can't find something, it's often there. Or it was for the woman who used to wear this." She swallowed another piece of her own flesh and this time Sam didn't quell the urge to chop off her head. The squelching thud as it hit the floor was gratifying.

Sam diluted the borax drip; hopefully she'd be back together enough that a few rounds with a baseball bat would loosen her up.

He sighed, stepping round the bloody mess and shedding his jacket, it was splattered in her guts. Right now he just wanted to enjoy a long, hot shower. She could wait a few hours. He opened the door and quickly shut it behind him.

'John, I'm just going to shower. Watch the door for me?' Sam grimaced as he left a footprint of slimy red on the wooden floorboards, he took his boots off.

'How's it going in there? Sounds, well, I'm glad it's not me.' John frowned, turning from his laptop screen and assessing the mess that Sam was. His long hair was stringy and matted, and his jeans were stained where he'd wiped the blood off his hands. He looked worn, tired, John was almost overcome by the urge to drag him to the shower and demand he have 10 hours sleep minimum, he might have, but Sam didn't look like he had ever slept 10 hours straight and he didn't look like he was going to start soon.

Sam shrugged, looking slightly more normal without his boots and large jacket, John could almost believe they were just staying with a welcoming American for respite, that those stains were from painting the fence outside and they'd soon be leaving, back to London and Mrs. Hudson.

"She has a big mouth on her; she's just not saying anything that's really putting a crack in Moriarty's plan. Where's Sherlock?"

"Went shopping." John squirmed uncomfortably.

"How? There's no..."

"I'm sorry! I only realised what he was doing when it was too late." John's eyes grew wide as Sam ran for the door, as if he could stop Sherlock who had left hours ago.

"Where did he go? If he leaves so much as a scratch, he is dead!" Sam held his forehead, staring at the empty drive. "And so am I." He mumbled, his eyes flicking back to John.

"He just said we needed to do more research and drove off."

"Great, two men down already. Can nobody just stay in one place for more than a second?" Sam turned back, shutting the door behind him and looking up at Johns face; he promptly reconsidered the question and laughed.

"Except you, John, you haven't even moved seat, have you?"

"Hey, I made some tea..." John blanched as he realised he really had been sitting on his ass all day.

"It's alright, did you find anything online?"

"Not much, they've completely cut Texas off, and 3 more hospitals are being built in Maine, Montana and California to 'cope with the sudden sweep of swine flu. Incidentally at the same time a load of fast food chains are popping up."

"Same company?"

"Nope, all different. It wasn't easy to find this out either, there could be loads more going on under the radar."

"Great." Sam sighed, since when had he become the world's guardian?

"Have a shower and rest, you look knackered, I'll watch the door." John made the universal sign for 'I've got my eyes on you' at the door and Sam must have been really tired, because he chuckled and actually felt a little better.

"Yeah, I won't be too long."

"Take as long as you want!" John called after him as he made his way to the bathroom, already imagining the slide of hot water against his tense muscles, cleaning off the clinging debris that made him heavier. Maybe he would sleep, just for a few minutes, a quick lie down. Sam nodded drowsily to himself, yeah, John could handle himself.

John watched as the huge guy trudged away, still pleasantly surprised that the 'Muscle Giant who killed monsters for a living' was actually quite nice, normal in a way a lot of people actually weren't. He was the kind of guy who would end up marrying a beautiful girl, build their home himself and have two kids and a dog; he probably would have that already if not for his occupation. John found himself hoping they'd survive this just so Sam could have that, and maybe him too. He was still young enough after all.

"Eh, time for a refill." John plodded to the kitchen, putting the kettle on for the third time. He started loading the sugars, but there was only so long he could sit at a laptop while everyone else sorted the world's problem, and he was just a tadge curious.

He left his mug and ignored the indignant screaming of the kettle, walked past his humming computer, and accidentally trod in the red slime that Sam had left in his wake. He ignored this too, biting his lip and turning the handle. He remembered the way the woman had looked at him; maybe she would be more willing to talk to him than the weapon wielding bad man. He smirked to himself; he was being the good cop then.

The room was barely recognisable from the plain, empty shell it had been, a table leaned against the far wall, layered with knives, bottles, needles and metal bars. John tried not to look too closely. The floor around the chair was covered in blood and other lumps of things; he thought he glimpsed one or two teeth peeking from within a mound of flesh. The drip now merely looked ironic, surrounded by its patient's insides.

He shuddered, to think that Sam had done this. Sam's jacket was thrown against the floor, forming a sticky clump next to the door, but he took all that in one second. His attention was quickly overwhelmed by the head that was slowly reconnecting itself. The flesh sewed itself back together, head attaching to neck in a flawless, easy manner. Her shoulders rolled, the movement rippling across her skin until she was twisting her neck, the bones popping into place again.

"Ah, that is such a nuisance." She sighed, her sight locking on John.

"Is it your turn now, sweetie? I promise I don't bite." She winked, and maybe that would've been an enticing offer in another situation where half of her face wasn't sagging and she didn't look like a half rotting corpse but right now John was halfway to throwing up.

"I wouldn't pop your bones like that, you'll get arthritis." He commented, his voice shakier than he liked. She laughed, finding the idea bemusing.

"Aw, thank you for the concern. How kind." She rolled her eyes, her tone cutting. John ignored her.

"Tell me what the message means." He stepped closer, his voice becoming more urgent, and she watched him like he imagined a hawk watched the unaware fish. He shivered, knowing this could go very wrong for him, but it was too late to leave now.

"Why should I?" She licked her cracked lips, and John swore he saw her tongue become forked.

"Why not?" He countered, unable to think as he watched her face begin to lift and her eyes become sharper. He looked at the drip but it was still almost full.

She smiled, pressing her lips together. "I think you already know."

"No, I don't. What does Moriarty want with Sherlock?" He pressed, Moriarty had left a message just like Sherlock had predicted and it could not be treated lightly, especially with Moriarty now being a People-Eating Monster.

"His heart. His achey, breaky heart." She sneered.

"Why?" John didn't consider how that would be impossible, Sherlock didn't get attached, emotion was a disadvantage.

"Because eating you folk is fun and all, but he's shown us that hunting you is even better, breaking you is the charm." She stared right into his eyes as she spoke, and John wanted to run, to call Sam, every nerve told him to GET OUT OF THERE. But he stayed.

"So, what, you're hunting us down?"

"One by one. Sherlock, Sam, little alien boy." She paused, her eyes glinting, "you first, though, sweetie."

"Alien boy… you mean the Doctor?" John growled.

"That's the one. He's got someone waiting for him back home." Her eyes drifted, looking behind him. John shivered but didn't turn; he hadn't heard the door open.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you really know about your 'partners'? About the man who destroyed his home, the brother who started the apocalypse, and the detective who relishes the thrill of that death and destruction?"

"I know who they are, what they have done isn't any of my business." John said sombrely, he knew they were trying to save the world, maybe right their mistakes; and it wasn't like he had shared his stories of the battlefield. He'd done things he wasn't proud of.

"How noble. I guess we'll soon see if they feel the same compassion towards you."

John hadn't fully registered the meaning of her words until it was too late. The rope split and he tried to run but she was on him. He felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck and then he was down.

Xxxxxxxxx

"Angels."

The Doctor pulled back, "Angels… again. That word. In Purgatory, a dimension supposedly full of monsters. Gah!" He ruffled his hair, grasping at chunks of it. "It's at the tip of my mind! What is it?"

Amelia wiped her eyes using the back of her hand, and tugged on his elbow patch.

"Yes?"

"Are you talking about your voice in the box?" She glanced behind her, at the window, where you could see the garden and his TARDIS waiting patiently.

"The voice… my TARDIS? No. No, this is something different." He frowned, confused. "What do you mean the voice?"

Amelia smiled, "she talked to me when you were here last time. She sounds like the Angels; she said I could trust you."

The Doctor was speechless, a rare phenomenon, of course these moments can't last forever.

"What are you, Amelia Pond?" He pressed his hands against her face, trying to see into her but something blocked him.

She shook her head, pushing his hands away. "You can't do that."

"Why?"

"You'll get hurt."

He sat back on his heels, just staring at her, and unlike other people she stared back, her gaze as unrelenting as his own. He sensed no fear or uncertainty from her.

He looked back up at the crack.

"What if I wanted to go in? Make it bigger?" He suggested, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

"No! No, you can't do that! You must make it smaller, must make it go away!" She cried, her voice becoming demanding and loud.

"But what if I can only do that from the inside? What if the problem is on the inside?" He kept going, knowing he was close.

"Doctor. No." She was backing away from him, going towards the crack.

He stood up.

"Amelia, you have to let me help and I can't do anything here." He took a step after her.

"Don't come any closer!" She screamed, her arms widening to stop him from getting near to the crack. She was so young but the Doctor actually hesitated, anxiety nestled inside his gut. But when did that ever stop him?

He took another step.

Amelia was no more, a column of spiralling flames had engulfed her, it burned the ceiling above them, crackling and spitting embers across the room.

"Amelia!" The Doctor shouted hoarsely, choking on the smoke. "I'm not leaving!" His eyes stung and he covered his mouth with his jacket in an attempt to breathe.

He waited, his eyes watering, not knowing if it would change anything.

Slowly, the flames became more solid, shrinking until the Doctor could see the blackened ceiling behind them. They didn't just go out like the Doctor had hoped though, instead a figure was formed, her body made of glowing white fire, her hair a cascade of red flames. When she opened her eyes, they were blue flares.

"You may not pass, Doctor." Her voice was crackly, but not ferocious, like distant thunder.

"I only wish to help, Amelia." The Doctor removed his jacket from his mouth.

"I am the gatekeeper of this dimension and only I get to say what leaves and enters. You are not permitted, you do not belong."

"What about the leviathans? Did they have your permission to leave? Do they belong here?" The Doctor shouted.

The flames fell, the blue of her eyes dimming slightly.

"I let down my Father." Her voice was softer, and the Doctor sensed more of Amelia, but when the Doctor tried to get closer she blazed more brightly, the Doctor jumped back, his fingers red where they ached from burn.

"I can't let anything else out." Despite the pain of his fingers, he could see how afraid, guilty and alone she was. So much like he had been. He could sense how long she'd isolated herself, guarding the gate.

"They all want out. They cry and suffer and they're so close, always trying to make it bigger. I have let too many escape already."

"There are two creatures in there that don't belong in there; you must feel them, know their presence. One of them is a brother to my friend. You know what it's like." The Doctor lowered his gaze, but her sudden silence infuriated him for some reason.

"Would you let your family rot in there?"

Amelia stiffened. Her flames freezing for an unnatural moment.

"I have to. Always."

"What if you had a choice?"

The figure was quiet except for the sizzle and sputter of her fire, and then the fire went out, smoke erupted around the room and the Doctor raced to open a window. He coughed violently, heaving smoke from his lungs.

"Amelia?" He managed as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Take the man and the angel and bring me back the Leviathans. I shall open the gate layer by layer. Be quick."

"Thank you, and we'll help you, okay?" The Doctor planted a loose hand on her shoulder and she nodded, smiling slightly.

"I believe you."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

"According to the hounds, the crack has moved not far from the Swamp City. Once we have made preparations, we should head that way." Gordon's voice was rough with excitement.

"With human?" The Behemoth grunted, his speech still uneven.

"I don't know. Who knows if the crack will take monsters? But a human, he doesn't belong here anyway, the place probably wants to spit him out, and maybe we could grab a ride. But then, I don't know if he'll even last that long, the sods dying out here. He could end up being more useful as money for provisions. Either way, we need to go the Swamp City first, we'll see how much anyone is willing to buy him for and decide that way." Dean felt sick at the evaluation; there wasn't a good end for him either way.

"Good. How long?"

"Two more nights at most. Almost home." Gordon sighed; it was almost in his grasp.

Dean absorbed this, the crack led home. That was his aim then. He would get back to Sammy.

Twice the pride, double the fall - MORIARTY :)

"Gosh, that takes me back... Or forward." - Doctor

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What are you…?" Sherlock crawling on floor next to bed/sofa? He's hurt? Drugged?

"What?"

"No, no. The bed. You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."

"Of course, I'll be fine. I am fine, I'm absolutely fine."

"Yes, you're great. Now if you need me, I'll be next door."

"Why would I need you?"

Wake up to find naked Sherlock? (had a revelation that was too urgent for clothes?)


	11. Mixed Emotions

Xxxxxxxxx

This was the last day. The last day he could most probably escape, the day when Gordon decided whether he would sell him or keep him. They were going to be in the Swamp City soon enough. He'd been steadily 'improving', refusing help from Rex and generally keeping with the pace and sometimes increasing it. He figured he might actually be his healthiest after all this walking, limited food and filling his body with water instead of alcohol - which might make him even more appealing to sell.

Dean tried not to think about that.

As they'd walked, the landscape had improved (it wasn't exactly reliable, one moment they could be walking through a picture book green valley and the next tripping over rocks in a boulder trap) but the desert of sand and ice was a distant memory from the almost pleasant scenery they most often traversed. Dean figured that meant they were getting closer to the City, or maybe Purgatory didn't make sense and it meant nothing.

They were close, he could tell, from the travellers that had appeared from nowhere, mostly alone, monsters that varied from vampires to stuff he'd never seen or heard of before, and they were ragged and tired from their journeys and Dean wondered if they all saw the same thing, experienced the same tests that let them continue. "Burning them of their sins" as Purgatory was supposed to, but then again if their sin was their existence, that was a lot of burning.

Gordon had told him the City was special, that nothing like it existed in Purgatory. "Feels like home" were his words, Dean couldn't imagine anything home-like here. They had passed no houses, buildings, and barely any people up until now. Purgatory was like the rough first draft of home, the sky unfinished, time still only a strange concept and the rules of the universe still undecided.

"Shit!" Dean's slipped onto his front, skinning his palms. His leg was stuck in a hole of mud that came up to his knee, a hole he was sure didn't exist a second before. He tried to haul it out, but the mud merely sucked at his jeans, pulling it back just as ferociously.

The rope around his stomach jerked and he roughly pulled back, glaring at Gordon who smiled viciously, his eyes mocking him.

"Stop! Our darling princess has caught her foot," Gordon gave the rope to another vamp, an old woman, Dean did not feel safe with his wellbeing in her grasp.

"Let's hope we don't have to chop it off!" She cackled, and the slowing group joined in, watching hopefully as Gordon tried pulling Dean up. He stumbled to his feet but he couldn't balance without Gordon helping him up. His leg was still definitely stuck in the hole.

"You're just determined to be difficult." Gordon murmured, roughly jerking his knee up, causing Dean to bite back a cry as his kneecap popped. His fingers dug into Gordon's arm, making Gordon stumble. The old woman took this as her cue to cruelly yank the rope and make him fall, taking Gordon with him. Dean wanted to slit every one of their throats as they quietly snickered, but obviously not as much as Gordon. His heavy weight was gone in an instant, and there was a sharp crack as Dean heard the sound of bones snapping, specifically a neck.

Gordon shoved the elderly woman's body to the floor, and this time Rex was given the rope. Dean got to his feet without any help, shivering as Gordon's rage washed over him and the rest of the group, who had retreated a few steps. The Behemoth had gone ahead but Dean doubted anyone would question Gordon's command still.

"Don't fall again." Gordon said, his voice like gravel. Dean nodded. Gordon examined his leg, stuck a finger in the mud and pulled it out again as if it were just ordinary mud. Dean tried to calm his heart as his nervous mind imagined Gordon breaking his leg and just ripping it off.

"Relax your muscles, and lift slowly." Dean took deep breaths, looking at the floor as Gordon held him upright. Very slowly he pulled his leg up, letting it hang loose, and the mud slipped away like liquid. He held it in the air for a fleeting moment and then he was stumbling forward, until Gordon pushed back and he was standing, legs attached.

"That wasn't too difficult, Deano." Gordon smacked his back, and Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Just unexpected," Dean said, shrugging, pulling his layers tighter round him. Gordon was too close for his liking and wasn't moving away.

"Yeah…" Gordon smiled, and Dean looked up at Rex, as if Rex would help, but Gordon was the boss, no one would interfere. "You're looking healthier, Dean, practically shining. I had been starting to get worried about you." Gordon's sharp eyes held his, and Dean wanted to vomit, kick him to the ground and finish him off or just run but none would end well.

"Gettin' used to the place, it's not exactly welcoming. I'll be glad to see the back of it." Dean smiled slyly, putting on just a little of his old bravado.

"Good to see some optimism in you, Deano. I could do with some of that, perhaps it's contagious." Gordon leaned closer; smelling him deliberately, warm breath brushing against his jaw. Dean couldn't hold still, he pulled back.

"Gordon –" He gasped, his hands clenching as Gordon bit down and sucked. He hadn't felt this in days, had enjoyed the absence of fangs in his flesh, but the pain was excruciating, Gordon was sucking heavily. Dean managed to get his hands up and on his shoulders but he didn't have the strength to push him off, he was only standing because Gordon was holding his weight from his shoulders.

"Stop!" Dean yelled hoarsely, and Gordon lessened his draw, finally withdrawing from Dean's neck and letting him fall to the ground. Dean tried to hold his skin together, feeling his hot blood running over his fingers and onto his shirt. He could barely breathe.

He struggled to keep his eyes open, his head was drooping, sounds and sights swam in their own residue. It was dizzying, he wanted to throw up but he couldn't, instincts were rushing from all sides, telling him to get up and run even though the very idea made his sinuses ache.

The sounds became clearer, fuzzy bellows becoming distinct roars and shrieks. The blurry shapes grew into crazy, desperate claws and teeth and fists. He was surrounded by the messy violence and most of it was directed to get closer to him, he could sense the bloodlust, the red eyes that focussed on his torn up neck. Gordon wasn't letting anything get close though, refreshed, his strength was renewed and Dean felt sick as he ripped a girl's head off with his bare hands.

"Dean, can you get up?" Gordon growled at him, as he snapped a throat.

"Not for long." Dean shuddered as he tried to crawl onto his knees. He was shaking.

"Dammit." Gordon's fist literally punched a hole into the poor sod's chest, but despite Gordon's strength, it wouldn't be long till he was overwhelmed. His own crew were starting to turn on him; Dean was paralyzed as a vamp went from preventing a werewolf from getting him to pulling him to his feet and taking a bite.

He was missing a head a second later, thanks to Rex.

"Sharp wing," Dean stated, his vision flickering at the edges. Rex merely looked concerned, or as concerned as a beaked thing could look.

"Take him, Rex. I'll find you later, Deano." Gordon grunted, and then he was calling charge and they were all running outward, forcing everyone with them. Rex threw him over his back and they were sprinting like Dean's spine was made of rubber. Dean couldn't see a thing, shielded by Rex's wings, but it wasn't like he could do much anyway. He closed his eyes, trying to limit the aching pound in his head and just tried to keep still as they ran for their lives. Gradually, he forgot about the blood slipping down his neck and surrendered as the black devoured the conscious.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm back! Did some shopping and I didn't even pay; the cashier very kindly just let me have it!" Sherlock kicked the door wide open, striding in with bags of food and newspapers and who knows what else. The house was oddly quiet; he dumped the bags on the floor. John was no longer sitting at his laptop, which was weird. His mug was by the kettle as if he had been about to make some tea and his laptop was on standby. John usually turned it off when he left it; something about it ruining the battery.

"John?" Sherlock called. His instincts had already run the tests and every scenario ended badly. John was reliable, independent, and durable, but he was also very human.

Sherlock's gaze was fixed on the smudged red footprint next to the door - the door where Sam had kept the Leviathan, and where John had indisputably gone through after abandoning his laptop and tea. "Sam?" Sherlock called, his voice trembling as much as he tried to mask it. He didn't wait for a response, so stepping over the smudge, he opened the door.

The room was red and bare, the floor was strewn in guts, and tattered ropes surrounded the lone, empty chair. The room was empty. Sherlock almost just stopped. Sometimes being right wasn't a good thing. It rarely was in fact. Sherlock knew things about people he had never met that their closest relative may never know, he knew the girl that was cutting herself at night, the boy who had been abused as a child, and the fact that someone out there would never see their son again.

"No! No! No! He can't!" Sherlock knocked his fists against the wall, his skin broke and he cursed, curling into a ball as he fell to his knees. He sucked in a sob, biting into his sore palms now scarred with the dent of his nails. Not John.

"…Sherlock." Sam's voice registered in the back of his mind but he couldn't respond. The tone of his voice, the wince as he moved, the heavy sigh - they weren't things that Sherlock wanted or needed to analyse.

"I'm sorry." Sam fell quiet after that. What more was there to say after all? There was nothing that could be said.

"No."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Doctor sat alone. Just letting his feet dangle into the beautiful cosmos below. It never failed to… he didn't know what it did, but when he saw it, he felt the need to just stop and look. But even if he sat there for all of his 900 years, he still couldn't truly appreciate it all.

The colours, the lights, the size, and how insignificant it could make one feel, but at the same time just how grateful it made him because _he_ could see it all and show so many others and everyday_ he_ saw something else that made the whole thing even better. _He_ saw how one tiny, seemingly insignificant person could change it all, could impact whole planets, and change everything with one _tiny_ act.

He stroked the smooth wood of his girl. "Just like you. You're an incredible thing." The Doctor looked down at the swirling galaxy, where once his home had roamed, and his elders had stood proud and resilient, like gods. "Made of Angels. That's what they used to say."

He closed his eyes, leaning against the solid oak and he felt comforted even as if he thought of his world, of the mountains where his home had sat, sheltered by red grass and trees with silver leaves, where he had seen his first glimpse of white, shining snow. He had played in forests that glittered as if on fire when the sun caught them, and so had his children.

He tensed, waiting till the pain numbed. His girl hummed, thrumming under his touch. She warmed beneah him.

"Do you remember Omega? You were probably there. Just stories for me, of course. The man who helped create the Time Machines, started the foundations on which all of Time Lord culture would date back to. A genius, someone everyone looked up to, whether they had known him or he was just the story that put you to sleep every night." The Doctor opened his eyes, taking in the blues, purples, even the black orbs as his vision adjusted to seeing again.

"It was my favourite story. She used to tell it in such a vivid way, a story of fantasy, monsters and love. I've been chasing such stories ever since, huh, girl." The Doctor sat back, leaning on his hands, letting the wonders of outside wash over him. Silence settled for an indefinite amount of time and then the TARDIS bumped making the Doctor jumped, looking behind him and sticking his head under the TARDIS but there was nothing there, of course.

The TARDIS bumped again and the Doctor chuckled under his breath, "You like the story too?"

There was no reply but the Doctor knew the answer, as they had been friends for a long, long time.

"Omega was one of the very first explorers, sent in a spaceship to discover and watch and learn. He was long thought dead when he landed back home in a ragged vessel, it was made up of bits of his old spaceship roughly shoved together to make a craft just large enough for him. Or so it seemed, for when he opened the door it was so much bigger on the inside and a large engine towered in the middle, filled with blinding, golden light. He took it straight to his friend, Rassillion, who wanted to examine it and take it apart when Omega told him of all the journeys he had been on, not just through space but also in time." The Doctor shook his head bemusedly.

"But the machine would not let him. It would only let Omega in and Omega would not defile it. When asked to explain, he said his vessel was not a machine but had as will of its own. He called it an Angel." The Doctor pursed his lips, considering. "Obviously Rassillion dismissed this as purely just a word to describe something Omega could not yet explain - even then we were a species that relied purely on scientific observation and the presence of a God had yet to be proved." The Doctor paused, caught in the thought. He'd faced beings that thought themselves gods and devils and Creators and Destroyers but _angels_? Angels, from Heaven, with wings and halos, who were messengers of God, who fought demons, the spawn of Hell, and fell in love with humans, _humans_. The Doctor snorted, but then again he was the time travelling alien, the last of his kind, a being revered as a god on some planets.

He carried on, "So Omega told him there were more and they could make many of these vessels, possibly thousands. Convincing his vessel, he took Rassillion to a small dimension within their own, except it was not the home of 'Angel's as Rassillion had expected but of monsters. What seemed like failed experiments roamed this poor imitation of their universe, living in a continuous cycle of kill or be killed, and the soon to be Time Lords were no exception but we weren't so passive in those days, Rassillion was a great warrior and Omega was even better. Together they fought beasts that sprung from steaming lakes and chased them back into their dark depths. Eventually they came to the Forests of Light. For that was what it looked like from afar. Luminous mists rose from the Forests, disappearing into the white sky, and Rassillion thought them to be the most beautiful thing he'd ever set his eyes on, a striking contrast to their surroundings."

"But as they got closer, he became horrified. The 'Angels' were chained to the floor with something resembling lightning, the lulling sounds he had heard before turned to cries in his ears though they were not ugly sounds. Their cries were quiet; a remorseful sound that they sang in time and though he did not know the words he could still feel the words for they hurt and burned and he wished for all the world to make it stop. Omega showed him that though he could not free them from their bonds, the chains could be redirected so they weren't connected to the floor anymore but onto a loose bit of metal and so a vessel could be built round them. Rassillion noticed as they did this, the song grew quieter, even becoming less painful. And so the TARDIS's were built. They became a permanent part of Time Lord culture, and one could be killed for neglecting one, for they stopped working, but if you cherish them, there are no limits to what can be done, right?" The TARDIS rumbled and the Doctor smiled.

"They were never called Angels again, that was just part of the fairy-tale. You would tell me, right? Tell me if you were an Angel." The Doctor turned, but he didn't have time to pursue it for the phone was ringing. He ran, the doors closing behind him. He grabbed the phone, barely putting it to his ear before –

"Doctor! You have to get back now, John is gone. I don't know what happened; I don't know what to do. Just come back -"

"It's alright, Sam. I'm coming."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A sweet cloying smell clung to his lungs, trapping his air; he couldn't expand his chest –

Dean bolted upright, dragging in a breath and falling to his side, dry heaving, just managing to avoid his leg being roasted by greedy flames.

"How -"He coughed, his hand feeling the rough skin where his neck was covered in dry blood.

"Good times…" He sniffed, eyeing the flames. The smoke was flavoured with something tangy and disgustingly fragrant. Small twigs of a diseased looking tree were piled next to the fire and Dean could see they were also in the fire too. Signalling?

He pulled himself upright, towing his backside away from the fire so he could lean on a tree and figure out if his skin had been slow roasted. He inhaled less smoky air, taking in the forest. It reminded him of his first night here, it shouldn't feel so long ago, but it was, it felt like a different Dean had stood there, paralyzed by fear, hoping to God Cas hadn't left him.

_It didn't take long though._

He shook his head, couldn't think of that.

A twig snapped behind him and he tensed, wishing he had a weapon of some kind. But no, not even a sharp stick. He was dead meat. He just did his best to hide into the foliage.

Long arms came into view, trailing on the floor, a beak sniffed the air.

Rex.

"Rex, here." Dean patted the ground to make himself known, and smiled as Rex came over, even letting Rex nuzzle his shoulder. He was friends with a monster, figures.

"Thanks. You've done a great job, boy." The simple fire was actually aweing in the light this gangly creature had made it but then, Dean better than anyone knew that he was a lot stronger than he looked.

"De-ean" Rex croaked and Dean let out a surprised chuckle.

"You're learning to talk?"

"De-ean." Rex preened and Dean couldn't help but grin, oh man, he was turning into a girl.

"Dean-o!" Dean froze, he had actually forgotten. He had let himself believe he was free. He looked up; Gordon was standing on the other side of the fire, grinning smoothly. He looked spritely as if still full of fighting adrenaline. Dean's blood had stilled, he should have run, and they should never have stopped.

"Good idea using that toxic smell, couldn't miss you for miles, course that means the same for everyone else. Got myself a good few snacks, though," Gordon said, striding around the fire.

Dean stood up, this time he wouldn't go without a fight. Gordon smirked.

"Playtimes over, Dean. The Behemoths not far behind, I'm all up for a fight but you're the only one who's gonna get hurt." Dean grimaced but this time he didn't say anything.

"De-ean." Rex growled, standing in front of Dean and baring his wings at Gordon.

"Looks like you found another boyfriend already." Gordon rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Dean backed up, running as Gordon launched himself at Rex. He couldn't help Rex; he just had to hope he'd be smart and get away before he got hurt too badly. He ran, feeling the shadows latch onto him, invisible eyes watching him as he fled. He stuck close to the trees, trying to keep his breathing even as he sprinted, unable to hide, cursed by his own blood.

"Dean!"

He gasped, falling to the floor as Gordon shoved him from behind. He rolled over, scrambling to his feet again as Gordon came after him, shoving him against a tree.

"If the Behemoth didn't think you were so valuable, I would suck you dry right now." Gordon stated, regarding him as if he were a troublesome drug.

"Maybe you just should." Dean hissed, he could see Sam in his mind's eye. He could die with that last image, of Sam just knocking his beer against his, cheers to their last night. Sam wouldn't hate him; he'd done enough, lost enough.

"Aw, has Dean had enough?" Gordon mocked but his pupils were dilated, his tongue snuck across his lips and Dean could feel his neck itching as Gordon eyed it. He closed his eyes, feeling Gordon lean closer. Sam hugged him tight, his arms clutching at his back. Dean wasn't crying, he must have smoke in his eyes still.

And then the weight was gone and there was growling and cries and his weight was replaced by steady hands and an impossibly deep voice.

"Dean, are you alright?" His hands pressed into him but he dare not open his eyes or speak. It could break the whole illusion.

"Dean, answer me." He felt Cas guide him gently to his knees, stooping in front of him. Dean lifted his hand, brushing his hand against the bristle of a scruffy beard. He sucked in a breath, smiling despite himself.

"Nice scruff, Cas."

He felt a hand smooth over his neck, a thumb tracing the deep marks Gordon had left. He still couldn't open his eyes.

"I can't believe we found you," Cas whispered, and Dean felt him lay his head on his shoulder and they just stayed like that, ignoring the sounds around them, and just holding each other.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


	12. Invasion

He rapidly typed in Sam's coordinates, swivelled the Swizzlar and pushed down the lever. He stretched for a button on the far side, huffing out a laugh as the TARDIS purred. He fell back, stroking her smooth skin, but she rumbled haltingly.

"Something happen, Sexy?"

"More than something, darling." The Doctor stilled, the hairs on the back of his hand rising, and then peeked around his console.

A slim man in a dapper suit was standing near the doors, as if he had just popped in. Said man was smiling menacingly, his eyes gleaming as he looked at his TARDIS.

"Moriarty?" The Doctor took a step away from his console, grasping the handrail.

"How'd you guess?" Even from here, the Doctor could see Moriarty's dark eyes shine gleefully,

"Sam mentioned something about a scrawny neck." The Doctor slid his hand along the rail as he strolled across the platform, nearing Moriarty. "So you decided to pay me a visit?"

"Well, you don't make it easy but yes. I was dying from curiosity, you see." Moriarty touched the TARDIS wall, making the Doctor's fingers itch to shove him out the door but he doubted it would be that easy if he had managed to bypass the TARDIS defences.

"You have a beautiful machine, love what you've done with the place; I truly do, however it's not beneficial to me for it to exist. Almost dangerous for such a thing to carry on existing in fact." Moriarty's eyes slid over the Doctor who stood rigid.

"You can't destroy her. There's nothing strong enough."

"I figured." Moriarty rolled his eyes, walking over to the steps, "so then I wondered, what real threat can it pose if no one can drive it? If no-one owns either the key or knows of its location. Let it rot somewhere, right?" Moriarty raised his hands, making a helpless expression. "You see where that brings me, Doc?"

"I can assure you, it's not easy to kill a Timelord." The Doctor didn't budge as Moriarty stood toe to toe with him, in fact he might have even taken pleasure from the fact he was taller.

"Ooh, the confidence! I can feel it between my fingertips," Moriarty smiled, admiring his hands as they danced in the air. Only a second later, his expression dropped and he was considering the lights of the TARDIS, "_though be careful,_ for a prideful man has an awful long way to fall."

The Doctor smiled, boosting himself to sit on the rail.

"I'm not prideful; I consider it a horrid trait. I am in fact very cautious, so cautious I made my vessel so that none could enter without my permission or a key and from my observations I have deducted you had neither." The Doctor watched as Moriarty shrugged, taking out a green apple.

"Hmm, but you didn't exactly take into account demons, did you? Nobody does. More useful than you think, especially the King." Moriarty took a bite; the Doctor could hear the crisp crunch as Moriarty turned away, walking around the console. The Doctor listened carefully as Moriarty tapped on the metal.

"But a cautious man always thinks ahead, thinks beyond their safety checks and makes more. So what if something bad got in anyway? Many generations have troubled over this problem, such a dastardly problem-"  
"Haven't you wondered how you're going to die, Doctor?"

"I've wondered many things, like how you know my name. But first my story. How to overcome this issue. It was a Ms Tetler that came up with the solution. It was pretty slick. It required time but press a button and it would get you there."

"And where was that?" Moriarty stopped, in front of the steps, next to the Doctor. Apple still in hand.

"Here." The Doctor grabbed his apple.

"Wha-" The TARDIS doors burst open and the Doctor held onto the railing for life, his knees locked in position, gritting his teeth as his skin tightened. Moriarty had grabbed hold by the last second, but only a few fingers were between him and his doom.

"Hey, dipstick!" The Doctor grinned as Moriarty looked up at him; the Doctor threw the apple right at his head. Moriarty slipped, stumbling backwards and then falling. The doors closed.

"Hah!" The Doctor jumped down, grinning as he spun on one foot. He stopped casually, turning to face his old girl.

"No such thing as that button, you know."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sherlock and Sam sat at the table, well; Sherlock was slumped on the table after downing two glasses of whiskey Sam had served up. He had tried to leave so he could be by himself but Sam wouldn't let him.

"The Doctor should be here soon…" Sam mumbled, looking unsurely at Sherlock.

"I don't even care. I would kill both of you for a cigarette." Sherlock grumbled from beneath his arms.

"Lung cancer isn't going to help anyone!" Sam growled, he had noticed John slip the packet out of Sherlock's belongings. The thought made his heart heavy; it was his fault the man was gone. He shouldn't have gone to sleep, he'd been vulnerable.

"They probably wouldn't eat us if we had lung cancer." Sherlock muttered.

Sam just shook his head, a sigh sailing on his breath.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't reply, just kept his head buried beneath his arms. But Sam could still taste the acidic flavour of his cries, the way he had beat the wall with his weak hands as if by sheer will John would come back. It had taken an hour to get him to move from his collapsed form in the doorway, he had still been whispering no.

Sam almost fainted from relief when he heard the wheezing of the TARDIS landing in the next room.

"Doctor!" He shouted, running from his seat.

"Sam! Demon proofing! Now!" Sam stumbled as the Doctor roughly pushed him. Nevertheless he ran, picking up a spray can from the windowsill and a bag of salt. He handed the salt to the Doctor.

"Cover any entrances in." The Doctor grimaced, and then was off.

Meanwhile Sam started spraying.

….

Not long after, the TARDIS was demon proof, the devil traps adding a supernatural touch to the alien interior. Salt barricaded the entrances; the Doctor had even done the toilet. Sam approved.

"What happened?" Sam demanded when they were done.

"Doesn't matter," the Doctor waved Sam off as Sam narrowed his eyes, "later. First, what happened to John?"  
Sam relented, "I left him alone to grab some sleep, and he must have gone in to check on the leviathan. I had diluted the drip so she wouldn't just die on us, but it must have been enough. She broke her bonds, and took John." Sam sucked in a breath. "I tried to stop her but she knocked me out."

The Doctor took a moment to absorb, and then patted Sam. It was awkward but it was sincere.

"It wasn't your fault."

Sam nodded, not completely certain but it wouldn't help to dwell.

"Now, where's Sherlock?"

"The kitchen."

The Doctor dashed to the kitchen. Sam followed after, minding their handiwork. They found Sherlock on the laptop.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? Stop, already!" Sam stomped round, about to take the laptop off him.

"We have to get out of here."

"What-" Sam stopped himself, Sherlock was on emails. There on the screen was an instragram picture of an apple. It said 'I O U'.

"It's the same apple." The Doctor murmured. "Right, get in the TARDIS right now."

Sherlock nodded, grabbing the laptop and moving. Sam ran to the weapons room, grabbing his rucksack and stuffing it with what he could.

He was running when the front door burst open.

"Sam! Don't leave, the funs just starting!" A shrill voice cried and then he was in the TARDIS and the engines whirled and Sam had never wanted to hurl so bad.

"How did he know where we were?" Sam shouted at the Doctor as he leaned heavily against the doors.

"He must have seen the co-ordinates!" The Doctor faced Sam, his own face screwed up in guilt and fear.

"He was in here?!" Sam took a step forward, then, realizing the reason for the demon proofing, he tidied up the salt with his foot quickly.

"He just briefly threatened to eat me or something, playing with his food I guess but then I threw him into a black hole." The Doctor screwed up his hair, pacing. "He knew my name, and there was something else. But it doesn't matter. Where's somewhere safe we can go?"

Sam was about to protest but he stopped himself as he saw Sherlock just quietly holding John's laptop. He was gripping it tightly to his chest; his fingers were white with strain and he looked distant. Sam could almost see him coming undone.

"I don't know." Sam took a deep breath, they were slowly being backed into a corner but they would fight their way out again, even if it ended them. "Rufus's old lair. Let me just think of the coordinates."

The Doctor nodded, his fingers tapping.

"Saxon."

"What?" The Doctor twisted, eyeing Sherlock who was staring at the Doctor.

"It was his brainwashing tune. The four taps repeated continuously. It was clever, still didn't like him mind. He was obviously deluded." Sherlock knocked the rhythm against the laptop, the metallic clink loud and clear in the quiet.

"Moriarty was doing it, when he was in here." The Doctor frowned, not liking where his thoughts were taking him.

"Do you want me to type it in or…?" The Doctor jumped as Sam's voice interrupted his thought stream, he was standing right next to him now.

"Er, no, no. I can do it." The Doctor quickly typed in the numbers Sam recited, revelling in the purposeful movement of his TARDIS.

Quiet drifted in as Sherlock stared into the distance and the Doctor wondered about the bright glow of the TARDIS heart, and whether it was something else entirely.

Sam couldn't stand his own thoughts though. "Doc, where did you go before I called you?"

A grin slowly spread across the Doctor's face.

"I found a way to your brother."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel tended to the fire, adjusting branches so the flames could reach them, keeping it so there was always a steady blaze. He seemed content, even though members of the pack watched carefully as if Cas might accidentally fall in. Dean found it somewhat annoying.

"Why are they looking at you like that?"

Cas turned, rubbing the debris off his knees as he stood and came to sit next to Dean. Despite the fact they'd only helped him, Dean couldn't bring himself to sit by them yet. Their eyes only reminded him of how the monsters had regarded him, like he was just the next meal.

Cas shrugged, smiling in his way. "The first time I offered to do it, I stood in the middle of the fire."

"Are you kidding me?" Dean muttered, he hadn't been far off right. "Are you hurt? Or are your powers back?" Dean regarded Cas, as if he would suddenly notice huge burn marks even though he'd barely stopped looking at him since they'd found him.

Cas frowned, "I'm not hurt but nor are my powers back." Cas leaned forward, dragging his eyes to the fire, where he lifted a branch that was currently being devoured by flames. The way the whole pack stood up was almost comical.

Madison, one of the leaders as far as Dean could tell, also somewhat familiar, came closer.

"What are you doing, Castiel?" She asked hesitantly but it was berating.

Castiel mostly ignored her. "I'm just showing Dean something. It's okay." Madison stayed close, obviously not convinced; Dean couldn't say he felt much better. Maybe Cas had reverted back to crazy in their time apart.

That was when Cas clamped his hand right on the burning stick.

"Cas!" Dean shouted just as Madison shouted "Castiel."

"Look, it's fine. Just like I keep telling you." Cas shook his head, then looked hopefully at Dean.

"It will be the same for you. Just touch it." Dean swallowed, Cas' hand looked fine, it wasn't burning to a crisp at any rate. Still.

"Trust me, you don't need to sleep, eat or drink. We are, in our own way, beyond this world. It was not created for us. The environment doesn't know how to react to our presence, so it mostly doesn't." Cas explained in a calm voice, as the fire curled around his arm.

Dean stared hard at Cas. His eyes telling Cas in clear terms that if this went wrong, Dean would use his other hand to show him that he could still feel pain. Slowly, Dean lifted his hand and after a last deep breath, grasped the burning wood.

Heat warmed his palm uncomfortably, he almost released it out of instinct but he held on, feeling Cas' and the packs' eyes on him. He could feel the flames but more like shadows of their true forms, they were not painfully hot, just warm, tickling his hand as they embraced him. It was almost hypnotising, watching their hands being licked by the orange embers without feeling the sharp, ugly tenderness of his skin.

"It's alright." Dean grunted, releasing the wood and watching as Cas carefully rearranged it in the fire.

Madison smiled, but didn't move off. "Can I sit here?"

Cas didn't say anything, choosing this moment to add some more kindle to the fire. Dean watched her, she had long, dark hair that matched her eyes. Her skin was pale where he could see it beneath dirt and ragged clothing. Her stance was subtly confident, and there was just something infuriatingly familiar about her. Dean's curiosity overrode his paranoia.

"Sure, take any patch of dirt you like." She did, sitting cross legged next to Dean.

"Is the blood alright?" She asked, her eyes reflecting the flicker of the fire. He touched his cheek where the dried dead blood made his skin feel tight and itchy.

"It's fine, thanks." He smiled lightly.

"You alright, Castiel?" She smiled nervously. Dean found it endearing, especially with Cas as docile as he appeared.

"I am very content at this moment, thank you Madison." Cas stretched his arms and rolled his neck, it reminded Dean of 2014!Castiel but he was happy enough to just have Cas with him alive to worry about how human he appeared.

Madison paused for a moment before sitting close by and considering them, or more precisely, Dean.

"Checking out the goods?" Dean asked, then regretted it. They were Gordon's words.

Madison shook her head, "actually, I was wondering if you remembered me?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, so he did know her but he didn't know where from. At his silence, her gaze dropped.

He shook his head, feeling kinda guilty, he'd obviously made an impact on her but it had been so long since he'd dealt with a common werewolf. He tried and failed to ignore Cas' exasperated sigh.

"What?" He glared at Cas.

"Sam would have reason to remember." Cas stated, as if Dean were purposefully ruining everything. Seeing Madison's face, Dean realised maybe he was. She looked up from the ground, and the sad acceptance in her eyes was what clinched it.

"Madison." Dean breathed. He remembered his brother's tear-strewn face, the emotional turmoil of the few days they'd spent together and how in the end she had bravely accepted her fate. She hadn't deserved what had come to her.

"You're okay." Dean gripped her shoulder, holding her tighter than necessary but he couldn't believe it. She was alright, not some lust crazy monster in the middle of this Hell hole.

"Yeah, I was lucky. I found a pack and I made my place, for some reason being killed by a Winchester added to my credibility too." She smiled but Dean found that thought hard to swallow.

"Did Sam ever find anyone else?" She diverted, pushing him to sit again.

"One or two girls, but Sam struggled for a long time, after Jess and then you…" Dean shrugged, unable to stop the thought of Ruby crossing his mind.

She nodded, "I guess a lot must have happened since you met me, I mean your friends with a god now."

"A god?!" Dean choked.

"An Angel, I'm an Angel." Cas spoke chastely, as if he'd said it often.

"You are the closest to a god we'll ever get, Castiel." Madison rolled her eyes.

"I am nothing compared to my Father."

"Your Father shoved us in a hole so we wouldn't bother him; you saved us, let us see our home once more and then came back. You have great power, just not here or now. To me, you are better than your god."

Cas was about to protest, when Dean saw Dirty, the werewolf who had done the lame attempt at a rescue, coming over.

"Shut up, you two! Why do you even care about stupid gods? Is that why you were so keen to get Cas out but didn't mind me rotting to death?" He stood up, growling his words at Dirty.

"I couldn't risk my pack over some human."

THE ELDER WEREWOLF INTERRUPTS. DOESN'T LIKE DEAN WINCHESTER SO MUCH. PLANS TO GO SAME PLACE GORDON WAS HEADING. MEET REST OF PACK BRIEFLY (BY CAS). HEAD TO LAKES OF LEVIATHAN. Cas points and says 'that's where we're headed.' Description of forests like the Doctor described.

xxxxx

"

Sherlock gets pissed/drugged

"What are you…?" Sam exclaimed, watching Sherlock crawling on floor next to the bed (drunk and drugged after finding John gone.)

"What?"

"No, no. Here, look." Sam picks him up, gently placing him on the bed. "It'll be okay. Just sleep, Sherlock."

"Of course, it'll be fine. I'm fine, I am absolutely fine."

"Yes, you're great. Now if you need me, I'll be next door."

"Why would I need you?"

Wake up to find naked Sherlock! (Yes naked Sherlock and he just wraps himself up in the sheet like he did in the series two premiere~)

Simply because of this.

World is suddener than we fancy it,

World is crazier and more of it than we think,

Incorrigibly plural.

A few other writing techniques lend this same taste of fantasy combined with normality. By using 'world' without the expected 'the' before it: "World is crazier and more of it than we think," "World is suddener than we fancy it" questions our rules, our inner referee who corrects grammar and spelling mishaps. It opens us, the reader, to accepting the whole situation created in this poem, to accepting it for what it is and not trying to put it in a framework that we are comfortable with. The use of 'we' creates a welcoming mood, expansive, understanding but then the singular "I peel and portion/a tangerine" zooms us away from the universal, down to this person, performing an unspectacular duty of eating a tangerine- and though the taste and texture is left out, the devourment is implied as the pips are then 'spit'). Finally, my personal favourite: "I peel and portion... and feel/the drunkenness of things being various (6-8)." It strikes a known chord, of feeling how crazy and sudden life is, how infinitely variable, like a snowflake, and it seems logical that eating a tangerine might cause one to feel drunk, dizzy at the thought of how much 'world' is.

I think this is a perfect description. I think the doctor may quote this if asked why they were helping.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam puts a track on the email for Sherlock, Sherlock contacts Mori through email.

Find location but don't know how to rescue John without loss.

Sherlock decides to give Mori what he wants.

The Doctor messes with the impala as he's bored. ("Gosh, this takes me back... Or forward." – Doctor) When Dean gets back, he can tell, he is not happy. The Doctor made it more efficient and 'just added something a little extra so she won't be dying anytime soon.'

Crowley attempts blackmail with Impala.


	13. Dean And Cas Hug (again)

"The Crack? You're heading for the crack too." Dean glared at Dirty; suddenly he was starting to see some unsettling similarities between Gordon and her.

"Yes. Castiel does not belong here, neither do you; and the Crack is your only way out."

"And you're telling me there's no gain for you?"

"We have learnt much from Castiel already, we hope to learn more about Purgatory and our Lord, this way we may have advantages over rivalling packs. What is the point of trying to return when we will just be hunted again?" Dirty's eyes held a disdainful glint, almost challenging Dean to see if he could find any other paranoid reasons to treat them like monsters. Unfortunately Dean was struggling especially with the way Cas was looking at him, with his hopeful eyes latched onto Dean, he couldn't just tell them what he really thought.

"How are you even planning to do it? I assume the exit to Purgatory isn't exactly left half open with some neon sign." If he was going to trust the bastards, he was going to do it his way. He ignored the weird feeling in his gut as Cas gave him a half smile and turned back to his fire.

"No, the Crack moves every now and then, it was through the crack that Castiel and you appeared, that's why you were caught so quickly. Many packs live by following the crack, waiting for the day that it opens just enough. Your entry may have widened it slightly but as Cas is constantly proving, you do not fit here and the environment responds differently. This goes for the Crack too, most likely. We get you close enough, hopefully it will just swallow you back."

"And meanwhile?"  
"We shall take you there and Castiel will show us his ways, tell us his stories, educate us." Dirty stood resolute, looking like a leader despite her lack of clothes and hygiene. Dean nodded.

"Fine. When do we leave?"

"Dawn. Be ready."  
"Dawn being what? When the sky is most white?"

"Dean, shut up." Dean froze as Cas looked up at him, patting the seat beside him. "Sit down."

"Huh?"

"I think he's telling you to stop being such a prat and just enjoy not being some vampires bitch." Dirty leered, turning away.

"Charming." Dean commented, taking his seat. "Don't tell me you like her, Cas."

Cas shrugged, "she helped me get you back when she could have easily declined."

Again, Dean had to push away the warm fluttering in his chest.

"You're such a girl, Cas."

Cas looked up at Dean, his eyes narrowed, his mouth pulled down suggesting he was vaguely insulted. "I am not of any gender, Dean, and I don't see how my actions thus far have given you any reason to think I am a girl."

"No, I-"

"Don't bother, Dean, he enjoys playing us all up." Madeleine scoffed, eyeballing Cas who was intensely watching the fire.

"As far as I know, Cas doesn't 'play anyone up'." Dean frowned.

Maddy shrugged, "You would think so, but having been in his head I know a little more about how he works."

"You remember that?"

She nodded, her expression becoming distant, "yeah, most of us do. We were all immersed, not in control of anything. We saw the world through Cas' eyes and were overwhelmed in his thoughts and being, it was hard having to adjust after he released us back here, my pack kinda…" Madeleine blushed slightly, it was hard to tell with all the dirt but he noticed the slight flush of redness.

"became a religious cult for the crazy angel-God?" He suggested nonchalantly.

Madeleine chuckled with surprise, "uh, I guess that's how you would you see it."

"I am not crazy anymore, Dean, and nor was I ever God." Cas spoke up indignantly, glaring at Dean.

"Sorry, man, didn't mean to ruffle your feathers." Dean lifted his hands in mock surrender, smirking as Cas readjusted himself as if he really was sorting his wings.

"How come your crazy is gone by the way?" Dean nudged him.

"I couldn't hide anymore; I had to face my problems if I was going to help you." Cas shrugged.  
"You realize your help would have been appreciated back home too?"

"I tried my best, Dean. I am truly sorry though, I wish I could have done more, I know I still have a lot to repent until you can forgive me but I promise-"

"Whoa! Cas, you saved my ass! I just wanna get us both out of here, no more repenting crap, okay? We've all done some pretty shitty stuff, but we've only got each other and I ain't about to lose you again." Dean said gruffly, glad to get that off his chest. It had been on his mind since he'd "lost" Cas through the ice, he'd had enough of watching his loved ones die.

Cas' expression melted slightly and real warmth crept into his eyes and though he didn't smile, Dean felt like he was. It felt as if something changed in that moment but Dean couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What are you…?" Sam exclaimed, watching Sherlock crawling on the floor next to the bed, it turned out that Sherlock didn't have much of an alcohol tolerance.

"What?"

"No, no. Here, look." Sam leaned over, picking him up and gently placing him on the bed. "It'll be okay. Just sleep, Sherlock."

"Of course, it'll be fine. I'm fine, I am absolutely fine."

"Yes, you're great." Sam sighed, pulling the duvet over him when Sherlock showed no sign of moving. "If you need me, I'll be next door."

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock croaked, rolling over onto his side so his back was to Sam. Sam stood there quietly for a moment, basking in the accusation and guilt. Why would Sherlock need him? He'd let his one friend get taken. John was probably dead and it was on him.

He slipped away, closing the door and trudging back to the kitchen. He stared at John's laptop, wondering if he should put it away but he imagined that would just make Sherlock stress more.

"Leave it be." The Doctor said from behind him, Sam was too tired to turn around. "You should get some sleep, Sam."

"I don't think I really want to."

The Doctor was quiet for a while before gently saying "we all have to do things we don't want to."

"John told me to get some sleep before he was taken; I took his advice and look where we are now." Sam growled bitterly, his eyes still fixed on John's laptop. It was closed, shut down, alone. Left here.

"We need you at your best, Sam, otherwise we're even more at risk. I am here; I will make sure nothing gets close." The Doctor walked in front of Sam, blocking his view of the laptop.

"Don't you need to sleep?" Sam said wearily.

"I can't sleep." The Doctor's eyes were sunken, his wrinkles seemed deeper. Sam got the feeling this man was very, very old.

"Why did you decide to help me?" Sam didn't know why he asked, it was just suddenly on his mind. The Doctor regarded him, a small smile blossomed slowly.

"Simply because of this. World is suddener than we fancy it, world is crazier and more of it than we think, Incorrigibly plural. Good poem, that. There is so much world, I'd thought I'd seen and done it all and so you came along to stump me." The Doctor paused and grinned, returning to his usual self. "Plus, you needed help. Now go sleep."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He was covered in cold sweat; he was trembling and felt sick. He hadn't dared move for hours, they'd shoved a blindfold over his eyes and so all he knew about the world around him was hard, cold stone walls and floor and a draft that stroked the exposed part of his neck with cold, unpleasant fingers. It was quiet but he wasn't alone, he'd managed to match his breathing pattern to his guard a few times but it was too calm and structured for him to last.

Occasionally he would hear other movements, they would pace or just stand, those were the creepiest moments. He imagined the creature, leviathan; he was pretty sure, just staring at him, measuring him up, wondering how he tasted. He didn't even know why he was still alive. Didn't know if he should be relieved or not.

The latest sound had been a ringtone. He'd had to suppress a sarcastic comment when he'd recognised the song.

"Now I've got you in my sights,

with these hungry eyes-"

Of all things, it was Dirty Dancing.

"Hey, boss." John shivered, it was still her. It was melty face.

"Yeah, I got him." She paused, he heard her shuffle about, felt her gaze land on him.

"Hey, short-stuff, what's your email?"

John stuttered, his mouth dry and his heart fluttering. Why his email? He considered lying but couldn't risk it.

" 221 , you sending me an ecard?" He hated how squeaky his voice sounded but at least he could talk.

"Sort of, though you won't be there to receive it, Johnny boy. It's time to have some fun with your friends." She laughed, her tone becoming ugly. John felt sick, he really hoped Sherlock could outwit this new Moriarty.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam flinched, eyes opening to a crack of white light. He groaned, shoving his face into the pillow. The last part of his dream haunting his eardrums.

"SAM! DOCTOR! GET UP, GET UP!" Or maybe not.

Sam swung himself from his bed, pushing his hair back from his eyes. He noticed the shadow at his doorway, and looked up to see the bizarre assortments of clothes that was the Doctor.

"Doc, what's happening?"

"I don't think I should describe. It could get messy." The Doctor didn't look at Sam.

Sam was instantly more alert. He leaped up, shoving the door open and caught sight of pale skin, plump butt cheeks and Sherlock's tussled hair.

"No, no! What the –?!" Out of impulse, he put a hand to the Doctor's eyes, the guy was staring unabashedly. Though Sherlock didn't seem to care, Sam felt the need to protect him somewhat anyway.

"What are you doing? Where are your clothes, Sherlock?" Sam stared at his head. His curly, brown hair. Nothing else.

"No time for clothes, Sam. Moriarty emailed John! From a separate account, right?" Sam nodded, seeing where Sherlock was coming from but he also knew how different it was in reality. How easily a temporary email account could be made. They would have got John's email from somewhere on the internet.

"We can track the email, yes?"

"I could, but Sherlock, what makes you think that Moriarty would use the same email? What makes you think this at all?"

"I emailed him back." Sherlock finally turned around and Sam had to concentrate on keeping his sights up.

"Wowza! John's a lucky guy!" Sam elbowed the Doctor hard, "not helping."  
"You emailed him? How could you? He could easily track us back, you realize?" Sam advanced. Sherlock may be grieving but he could not put them in danger and get them all killed. That was selfish and stupid and not what Sam needed right now.

"I used a temporary email account. It lasted 3 minutes then ceased to exist."

"Why didn't you tell me you were gonna do that?"

"You were sleeping; don't you want to know what happened?"

"Yes, just tell us already." The Doctor intervened, he had also moved forward, and thankfully his eyes were positioned upwards.

"He emailed back." Sherlock turned the laptop so they could see the screen.

Sam ducked his head, pushing the laptop screen down so the light didn't reflect off it.

From: unknown

To: 221

Subject: -

John's here, but I prefer your company vastly. He isn't very chatty, disappointing really.

If you'd like to switch places, I wouldn't say no, but then I wouldn't say yes either. Despite his quiet nature, I'm growing quite attached. Make your offer, Sherlock. The world awaits.

"Did you offer to switch places?" The Doctor looked up at Sherlock from his bent over position.

"I wanted him to respond, didn't I? I had to make it convincing." Sherlock's eyes stayed sharp, no emotion dared compromise him.

"I could try to track it. It won't be easy but give me some time. I suppose you have to keep him interested so you guys should think of an offer." Sam deliberated, begrudgingly admitting Sherlock had done alright.

"What does a psychopath inside a people-eating monster chained to a demon-lord really want?" The Doctor murmured, swivelling on his left foot, and swishing his long, brown coat (he seemed to have acquired a taste for coats suddenly).

"My burning heart, apparently."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"That's Lily, over there by Alice-"

"Oh, the one with the freckly back?" Dean nodded at the woman's bare back where she had a large sprinkle of brown dots, Cas looked at him and Dean grinned. He had been acting weirdly ever since being rescued; he was becoming happier and cheerful. When he stepped back for a moment, it freaked him out a bit so he tended not to do that and just go along with things.

"Yes, Lily and Madeleine were the most helpful during my first days. If I wasn't for them I might have killed Ruth and headed out on my own to find you but they convinced me to stay and heal and bide my strength."

Dean didn't really know how to respond to that, he was partly grateful as if Cas had gone on his own he'd probably still be with Gordon but Cas would be hauling ass with him, still he couldn't help the empty abandonment that came with being left behind.

"I'm still going to make you and Sam pie when we get back." Dean stalled; it was such a strange, unannounced thing to say especially in Cas' mild tone. That conversation felt like years ago, Dean had all but forgotten Cas had promised that.

Cas had slowed down to match Dean, "is that okay?"

Dean didn't even think. He wrapped an arm around Cas' shoulders, pulling him in close.

"Of course, it's okay. You can make all the pie you want to, I would never get in the way of pie." Dean smiled, Cas' warmth next to his side felt good and steady and real. Cas wasn't standing as stiffly as usual either, instead his shoulders relaxed under his arm and he fit snugly against Dean.

"Good. It shouldn't be long; you can see the City now." Dean squinted upwards, trying to make out anything against the white and then he caught a flicker of blue. Luminous blue fog that was just in sight then disappeared into the white sky.

"Why does it look like that? What's the blue stuff?"

Cas frowned and Dean grew nervous as the silence grew longer and more intense.

"Are you okay, Cas?"

"No. I can hear…" Cas' voice sounded strained and Dean leaned in closer.

"Cas?"  
"I don't know, it's too high pitched but it sounds like…" Deans stomach fell, Cas sounded like he was gonna hurl.

"What is it?"

"Screaming."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


End file.
